Call It Even
by Fangirl Shrieks
Summary: "I'm a socially anxious introvert, and you're the popular captain of the track team, and I know I've never spoken a word to you in my life, but my dad said if I run a marathon, then I can get a puppy, so PLEASE train me." OR Annabeth's past is shaky at best, and she's desperate for a furry companion so she seeks out Percy Jackson's help. Percabeth; Mortal AU; Oneshot


**A/N: I honestly don't know what this is. (Great way to start the A/N, Kit smh).**

**I found a relatively harmless, fluffy, humorous prompt online , and somehow I added marathons, and depressing shit, and idek, and then I sat down and wrote this in the span of like two days.**

**Like why am I not updating my other story? Why am I not studying for competitions? Why am I not watching TV like a normal child? Why is opera music going on in the background as I type this? (I don't even really ****_like _****opera music.) Why is my sister staring at me? Can she hear my music? Is she judging the opera? Since when was she home? I thought she was in college and stuff.**

**Sincerely, a v confused author, who is currently contemplating life and existence.**

**Disclaimer: All character rights to Rick Riordan; I only own the plot. Also, non-graphic trigger warning regarding mental illness throughout the entire story. Nothing is ever explicit, but if the mere thought of discussing such illnesses makes you uncomfortable, then this story is not for you.**

* * *

Annabeth's first thought is that everything hurts.

It's not a feeling she's unaccustomed to, she supposes—especially when she's hooked up to machines that unmistakably mean she's in the hospital _again_—but it doesn't stop her from wanting to smash a plate, the one filled with crappy hospital food, over her head anyways.

Her second thought is that she definitely fucked up if she's here.

Annabeth struggles to recall exactly how much she'd had—there's no way she's here unless she miscalculated—and her sluggish mind is quickly cut off by the sound of a middle-aged man's voice. It's thick, like he's been upset for some time, and her shoulders feel heavy with the realization that _she's _probably the reason he feels that way.

Her third thought is regret.

It was never supposed to get this far away from her, and the effects were never supposed to be this catastrophic. She was never supposed to be laying here in white sheets that are more scratchy than she'll ever voice, barely fifteen (for one week and two days to be exact), contemplating when this had really began to eat at her, and by how much, contemplating if this is where she was destined to meet her end, and if this was how.

When her dad speaks with the nurse, Annabeth closes her eyes, pretending not to hear him, pretending to be asleep. It's better than seeing the hurt in his eyes.

She can hear a few words dispersed in the heavy air, and she wishes she couldn't

_114.3_…she blocks it out…_fainting…_it only gives her a headache to think about…_very common. _Annabeth feels mildly frustrated. She _knows _it's common; they don't have to say it, they don't have to lump her in a sum of statistics.

She worries her bottom lip, however, at her father's response. He's asking about her, if she'll be okay, what he should do, what he _can _do, and Annabeth's stomach fills with dread because there really _is _nothing he can do. It's all up to her; she's alone, and not in the way that people think with pity eyes and heavy frowns that crinkle their foreheads. She's alone, Annabeth inwardly reaffirms, but she wanted it to be like this. She only got what she wanted, or so she hopes.

But when Frederick Chase talks again, his words muddling together, the tears evident in his voice, she knows that _no _this is most certainly _not _what she wanted.

The guilt, unwanted yet persistent, comes crashing down on her again.

_I can change—I just don't want to, _she assures herself, but there's a lump in her throat that wasn't there before. _I can stop whenever I want._ Annabeth's words, internal or not, ring eerily similar to those druggies locked in rehab rooms from those cop shows she won't admit she watches way too much.

She knows it's gone too far, and she doesn't know when exactly, but Annabeth knows with a cold certainty it's been much longer than she's been telling herself. She wonders if this is what it feels like to be delusional. Annabeth never thought of herself as such, but now she thinks she might be, at least a little bit. She's delusional to think it was ever a choice, delusional to think she can fix this, delusional to think that she'll be any freer than she was nine hours ago because now all she's going to get is a helicopter dad and little brothers with wide eyes as her dad tries to explain to them, albeit terribly, what exactly was going through her mind to land her up here.

She's not even sure _she _knows.

But then Annabeth hears the heavy, familiar footsteps of her father's wingtip, leather shoes, and she knows he probably rushed here from the University after his last lecture, and she knows he's going to talk to her in that adult voice he's always used with her since she was seven months old because he _knows _she's smart enough to be mature, and she's been smart enough to watch the Discovery Channel since she was three, and she's been smart enough to read Dr. Seuss since she was four, and now she's smart enough not to end up in the fucking hospital, and part of her knows that if he brushes her hair back and looks at her through red-rimmed eyes, she'll cry.

So Annabeth closes her eyes again because _no, _she's not delusional to think that closing your eyes ignores every problem; she's just smart enough to know that ignorance is bliss, and if she never sees him—the teardrops balancing precariously on his light eyelashes, threatening to fall—he'll never know she heard every single word, the ultimate eavesdropper. He'll never know how sorry she is. He'll never know she just wants to spare him, to protect him like he's tried to do for her all her life.

And he'll never know what it's like to look into the eyes of his child, the very same steel grey as the mother who left so long ago, and see her loathe every fiber of her he and Athena have given to her. He'll never have to wonder if it's his fault.

He'll never have to see her hate every little thing about who she is.

**~.~.~Two Years Later~.~.~**

"What did Mom say?"

Annabeth glances over her shoulder to find the source of the irritating voice, her eyes landing on her brother Bobby. At thirteen, he's still a carbon copy of Matthew, and Annabeth likes to joke that her dad and Alice, her step-mother, cursed her with double the trouble. Now, however, she glares at him.

"I haven't asked her yet," Annabeth says with a sniff, yanking her phone away and out of his line of vision. Matthew grins at them across from the table, and Annabeth rolls her eyes. Of _course _he's listening in as well. "Besides, you shouldn't be looking at my phone anyways," she berates them, but it lacks its usual bite.

"We're just curious," Bobby defends, winking unsubtly at Matthew, and Annabeth stares at him because _really, _just _really? _Her brothers are idiots, she decides, hesitantly reaching for the avocado toast in the center of the table. Alice had recently gotten invested in the health trends, and Annabeth found that their breakfast became greener with every passing day, an idea that her brothers were absolutely horrified by.

Matthew glances at the plate with distaste before promptly walking into the pantry, a box of Frosted Flakes in his hands. His brother's eyes light up, and Annabeth secretly relishes that their attention is no longer on her.

Stuffing the last piece of bread into her mouth, she hastily scoops the keys off the counter.

Matthew crunches on his cereal noisily, which she promptly ignores. He's only doing it to get a rise out of her.

"Have a good day at school!" Frederick calls after her on the couch. "Drive safe!" He had been up all night fiddling with his model planes, and his procrastination had finally caught up with him. All throughout breakfast, he'd been adding last minute slides to his presentation for his lecture on the Civil War—a lecture Annabeth fully knew was one of his favorites, and one she herself had heard way too many times, yet had still not grown bored of.

Annabeth waves her hand behind her, the only acknowledgement that she's heard him at all before climbing into her trusty Ford, the one her parents had gifted her with for her seventeenth birthday_. _She reluctantly put s down her phone, an image of an adorable little puppy turning to black, before backing out of their driveway.

It's time to quit stalling, Annabeth decides stubbornly; she would ask them tonight.

…

"Can you believe it?" Piper bounces on her right as they walk into Goode High School. Her hair blows all over in the wind, yet it doesn't seem to deter the brunette in the least, and it certainly doesn't make her look any worse for the wear. She's holding a Jam Roly-Poly in her hand and biting out of the sweet treat every so often.

Annabeth rolls her eyes. Piper had been watching too much Downton Abbey recently, thus reverting to some alternative universe, British version of herself. She'd traded her English slang for phrases like "bloody," "blimey, "bee's knees," and "chuffed to bits." Just last week, she'd excitedly exclaimed that Annabeth really "knew her onions" in response to Annabeth's short explanation of question number fourteen in Piper's pre calc homework at lunch. (Annabeth herself is in AP BC calc, and therefore Piper is convinced she is a god to mere mortal men.) Nevertheless, it had been enough for Annabeth to pause in talking and shoot her friend a withering look.

"No, Piper, I can't," says Annabeth dryly, glancing at the easily-amused teenager.

"Canada is absolutely wicked!" Piper exclaims, babbling about the royal family and the news of their relocation to up north from England.

"Is she still talking like Mary fucking Poppins?"

Annabeth grins at the familiar voice as Thalia Grace catches up with them both, running slightly due to her shorter frame.

Piper pouts. "That's just rude." She crosses her arms over her chest as Annabeth pops open her locker, quickly dumping her heaviest textbooks to the bottom of the metal box with a _clang. _"Besides, Julie Andrews is practically perfect in every way. We stan a queen."

"Somebody smack her. Annabeth, if you'll do the honors." Thalia gestures to the hard locker door, and Annabeth fights a smirk.

"Oh, hush." She bats Goode's residential goth girl, and incidentally one of her best friends' hands away. "You're just as annoying, just maybe in a more public nuisance kind of way." Annabeth shrugs nonchalantly, laughing when Thalia shoves her.

"Better than being a nerd," Thalia teases, but the trio quickly grimaces when the bell went off, blasting out their eardrums and signifying for two more minutes of passing time.

"Nerds are successful, darling," says Piper, looking past Annabeth to Thalia as they make their way to class. Someone waves to her, and the brunette smiles amicably, her pearly whites gleaming under the harsh lights as she waves back. Piper, Annabeth had long come to the conclusion, is one of the rare specimens in the world that actually looks _good _in fluorescent lighting.

"Put a sock in it, Granger." Thalia turns the corner, whether to sulk off to the bathroom or actually go to class, Annabeth doesn't know.

"Hermione Granger is an icon of our generation, and actually Annabeth would probably play her out of all of us!" Piper screams across the hallway, getting a couple weird looks and obviously some lovestruck ones. Girls and boys alike seem to fawn over her, no matter what she does.

Annabeth squeezes her side, silently willing her friend to shut the fuck up and quit drawing attention to them all. She subconsciously holds her books up a little bit higher to shield her face. Being under scrutiny of the entire public high school is never a good thing. Quietly, Annabeth breathes a sigh of relief when she turns into her AP Physics classroom, leaving Piper to be moony-eyed over her chemistry teacher by herself.

Physics was good. Physics was right and wrong. Physics had one answer. Physics was the perfect balance of math and science.

Silently, Annabeth takes a seat next to Reyna, her lab partner, exchanging in the usual pleasantries that never held much weight. She asks the dark-haired girl about her lacrosse game—she was known for being vicious on the field—and Reyna politely asks her about Science Olympiad in return, both of their voices fading out when the final bell rang.

That's okay with Annabeth. Silence is where she really thrives.

…

Annabeth's eyes sweep over the lunch she'd packed herself, her appetite diminishing. Reluctantly, she forces herself to peel the orange.

Last hour, she had AP Bio where they had dissected frogs. Cutting open their guts was kind of enough to make you not want to eat forever. She knew it was true enough for Dakota, anyways.

Dakota's only a year older than she is, but she swears he's more immature than her brothers combined, and she _loves _him. The whole class does. Dakota's dad wants him to be a doctor, which is why, presumably, he's found himself in AP Biology despite the fact that the mere notion of Dakota even _liking _biology is, frankly speaking, preposterous. He threw up five minutes into the dissection, and then proceeded to suck on a Ring Pop as he walked himself down to the nurse's office.

Dakota eats more candy than anyone she's ever known. She thinks he'd be better working at Kellogg's, and Annabeth has no doubt that given the proper resources, he can invent the next most high-fructose corn syrup cereal out there, one to give Alice Chase nightmares and her brothers the sugar rush of a lifetime, but she knows the lengths people will go to make theirs parents proud, a feeling she's not entirely exempt from.

Piper eyes her carefully as she neatly arranges the orange peels beside her plate, and Annabeth shrinks under her gaze. It doesn't matter how subtle her friends are; she knows exactly what it means.

"What did your dad say?" Thalia interrupts.

Annabeth's not a slob, not by any means, but oranges are just hard to eat. She does her best not to get orange juice everywhere.

"I haven't asked yet," she says, but she can't hide her excitement.

Piper's had a mini poodle for four years, and before that, her dad had a beagle and a 1 growing up. She's grown up with furry companions, and hell if Annabeth won't do anything to have one of her own.

"So you chose one?" Piper grins, happy for her friend, and Annabeth sort of melts a little because she really does love her friends. Really.

"There's a man about ten miles away," Annabeth begins, holding up the phone for Piper to see. She immediately begins cooing over the pictures of the puppies, their eyes still shut, all curled together in a pile of fluff next to their mom. Thalia tries to hide her curiosity, but she looks too because honestly who _doesn't _love puppies?

"His German shepherd recently had about nine pups, and because he needs to move soon, they're about half the price they usually are. No names, no owners, eager to sell, reputable breeder," Annabeth lists, ticking off one finger by one. It's so perfect she can hardly breathe. German shepherds are smart, and Annabeth adores them for it, and they're obedient enough that Alice hopefully won't complain too much.

Piper's ecstatic. "Our dogs can be friends!"

Annabeth laughs a little because that's just Piper for you, getting a little bit ahead of herself, but she really, really loves her friends, and she can hardly wait to name her dog. She tells Piper of her possible ideas, all of which Piper rolls her eyes over because _Annie, you're such a nerd_, but it's okay.

They spend the rest of lunch finding the funniest possible names they can, names nobody sane would _ever _consider, and Annabeth manages to almost forget her worries for a little while.

Almost.

…

Frederick is vaguely amused, peering at Annabeth over the top of his spectacles, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It's a mocking smile, and Annabeth hates it.

She schools her expression, trying to be as professional as possible. "There are many benefits to getting a dog," she reasons, and her step-mother Alice opens her mouth to protest, but Annabeth beats her to it. "And there are plenty of breeds that are easier to train, mostly well-behaved, and clean." She revels in the silence that follows. That's right. She can read minds now. "I was thinking of a German Shepherd," Annabeth announces proudly.

For once, Alice has no comments. It surprises Annabeth until she gestures to her father, making it clear that the issue is between the both of them. Annabeth's a gold-standard persuader—she gets it from her mother—but when Frederick makes up his mind, she's always been partial towards him.

"Matthew and Bobby will adore it," Annabeth tries, frowning involuntarily at the expression on her father's face.

"I have no doubt of that," Frederick says, picking his words carefully and putting down his thick, leather-bound textbook. He sets down his pen too, lining it up neatly with the edge of the curling pages. Her dad's never been a tough negotiator, soft for his daughter, but that doesn't mean he's incapable of striking a deal that is beneficial for him as well.

Annabeth's always been self-raised, a non-troublesome child, so her father's never really had to discipline her. She feels weird using his pity—someone she typically despises—against him, but it's for what she wants. And her mother serves as a reminder that Chase women will say and do anything to get what they want.

"You're hardly in the right state of mind to care for yourself," Frederick admits, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Annabeth resists the urge to become defensive. Instead, she thinks her way through it. How can she prove she's better now? How can she prove she can do this?

"I'll run again," it comes out of her mouth before she can even process it and all that this promise would entail, and this time even Alice drops her fork, looking up at her in surprise.

Frederick's face scrunches into a worried frown. "I'm not so sure about that."

"If I beat this," Annabeth begins, albeit hesitantly, "then you get me the dog I want, within reason of course." She still remembers the wind in her hair, at the top of the track and field ranking for long distance and the star member of Girls' Cross Country, but that was in middle school. She's sure she sucks now. But if this will persuade her dad that she's healthy, she's happy, and she's in the right mentality to care for another creature, then so be it.

"Frederick," Alice chastises, horrified he's even considering it.

But Annabeth knows her dad. She knows all he wants is for her to revert to the vivacious young girl he used to know, and he'll give her as many chances as she asks for to see it come true someday. Annabeth chews on the inside of her cheek until she tastes metallic blood.

"On one condition," Frederick caves. Annabeth's heart palpitates. This is finally it. She's getting her puppy. Annabeth falls silent, implying for him to continue. She can hardly conceal her excitement. "We talk to your doctor first. If she clears you, you may rejoin your activities." He's worried, she can tell. A small 'v' always forms between his eyebrows when he's concerned. It makes the lump in her throat return; she hasn't felt this way in a long time.

But this is electrifying, and terrifying, and exciting all at the same time. Consequences are inevitable, but she'll never know until she tries. And she can't wait to win again.

"And running is too vague. A clear goal is much preferred."

Annabeth's head snaps up to her dad. "A marathon."

Alice is shaking her head at her plate, muttering about how stupid they're all being. She's probably right, in all honesty, but Annabeth never gives up on anything once she's set her mind to it, no matter the cost.

Annabeth suspects nothing will ever taste quite as sweet as victory itself.

She wonders if, somewhere out there in the great, big world, Athena feels the same way.

…

"How on Earth am I going to do this?" Annabeth groans. She's never been one to easily give up, but the more she Googles the stats, the more impossible this feels. A _marathon? _What was she thinking? She hasn't even _seen _a treadmill in over six months, forget actually exercising on one.

Piper waves her fork around a bit, chewing thoughtfully. "Find someone to help you, dear," Piper suggests. Her eyes light up all of a sudden, a sure tell of her next 'brilliant' idea. "I'm sure any of Jason's best mates from track would be willing to help you."

Annabeth warily studies her best friend. She's not really a fan of the whole 'getting help' thing nor the 'running with other people' thing. 'Other people' in general is usually a big no, no matter the activity.

Piper rolls her eyes at the look on the blonde's face. "Why bother asking if you're not going to take my advice?"

Annabeth internally groans. She knows Piper's right, but the idea of approaching _anyone _from the track team is enough to give her anxiety. Cursing under her breath, she concedes.

"Which friend?" she finally asks, and Piper's lips curve up into a knowing, prideful smile.

"He's quite attractive, actually," Piper ponders. "And he's _so _fast. I've _seen _him go. It's crazy," Piper babbles for some time. "He seems to be a bit of a loner, so maybe you guys will get along, and besides there's nobody more qualified than him in the entire school, which is definitely a plus, not to mention those _eyes_, my go—"

"Piper," Annabeth impatiently interrupts. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose like an exasperated mother with toddlers. She supposes the brunette is a toddler in her own way. "Get to the point, please."

"Oh." Piper grins, slightly embarrassed. "A boy named Percy Jackson."

All the color drains from Annabeth's face. "The _captain_ of the track team?!" she hisses, her chair screeching back noisily. She indignantly slams her palm down flat on the surface of the table."

"You're making a scene."

Annabeth quietly sits down, feeling the judgemental stares of everyone else near her lunch table. She half wants to give them a piece of her mind and demand that they stare all they fucking want because she's not going to sit down, but then she also wants to hide, uncomfortable with the attention.

"Fine," Annabeth bites. People slowly look away, turning their attention back to their conversations, and it calms her a little, but not entirely. "But you're fucking crazy. I'm not asking him."

"Do you want this puppy or not?"

"But—but…" Annabeth helplessly trails off.

"That's what I thought." Piper allows the tiniest smug smile.

Annabeth glares at her, more angry with herself than Piper. "I don't fucking care. I'm not doing it," she says, and that's that, and it's final. Piper shrugs a little.

"Your loss, babe."

…

Apparently, it's not final because Annabeth finds herself wandering the sports corridors in search of a dark-haired boy no less than an hour and a half after the last bell.

"Can I… help you?"

Percy does her a once-over, and Annabeth finds herself cringing because _really _why does this have to be so hard?

"I have… a sort of favor to ask." Annabeth wrings her palms together, feeling awkward and uncharacteristically shy under his gaze.

Percy stares at her, so for a moment she thinks he's going to laugh and tell her to go fuck herself, humiliate her, but then he casually shrugs, and blinks down at her curiously. "Shoot," he prompts.

Annabeth hesitates because honestly she didn't think she'd get this far before pulling herself together. Best to rip it off like a bandaid.

"I'm a socially anxious introvert, and you're the popular captain of the track team, and I know I've never spoken a word to you in my life, but my dad said if I run a marathon, then I can get a puppy, so _please _train me," she pleads in one breath. It's desperate, and every word wounds her pride-sensitive tongue, but she _needs_ him, she really does, and her puppy comes first.

"What?" Percy blinks.

Dread coils in her stomach. At this point, he could be pulling her leg. That or he's decided to inconvenience her with his lack of ability to hear.

"You're the captain of the track team," she tries again, and it might be her imagination, but she thinks he flushes a little at the acknowledgement. She's not quite sure why-everyone knows it to be true-but it's oddly endearing nonetheless.

"I'm assuming you're pretty good, then," Annabeth explains, shifting her weight onto her left side. "I'm not, I'm really, _really _not." It's a tough pill to swallow, but it's just one of the standard effects of losing muscle and being weak. She can practically feel Percy scrutinizing her muscles-or lack thereof.

"I made a deal recently with my dad. If I run a marathon, I get a puppy. Simple as that. And I know you don't know me, Piper, Jason's girlfriend, mentioned you to me, so I thought I'd ask, but I'm willing to do something for you in exchange. Anything." _Almost _anything, she mentally chastises.

Percy hesitates, and she wonders if she messed up. If she was supposed to meet some other track star who wasn't quite as daft, perhaps, but then he asks her a question, and he surprises her all over again.

"Anything?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Pretty much."

He frowns, and she mildly wonders how bad this is going to be.

"Look, you're right. You're a stranger, but I think that might be exactly what I need."

His words confound her and despite herself, she finds herself leaning in to catch his next phrase.

"My mom has a wedding coming up," Percy begins, and this time Annabeth finds herself stunned because this is _not_ where she thought this would be going at all. "I have to bring a date. Problem is, I just _know_ people will be all over me, asking me about her and other headaches I don't want to deal with. I need a faker, somebody to get me through the night, somebody to charm everyone else while I hide."

Annabeth bites her lip. "You seriously don't want to ask anyone you know?"

He shakes his head. "No, it's just-you wouldn't understand. A stranger is preferable. Somebody I've got no ties with."

"Huh."

"And one more thing." He rubs the back of his neck, scarlet creeping up his tan skin. "I need help with math."

"Math?"

"Pre-calculus," he affirms, bobbing his head in affirmation. "My buddy's girlfriend is in my class, the one you call Piper, and, well, she talks a lot. Everyone pretty much knows you're a bit of a genius yourself."

She steps back, embarrassed by the praised. "Thanks," she permits, crossing her arms uncomfortably. Compliments are always strange.

"So what do you say?" Percy looks at her nervously.

"What's your grade right now?" She's pretty sure she can work with this.

"C," he mumbles.

Annabeth doesn't bat an eyelash; at least he's not failing. "I think we can get an A," she decides, nodding a bit to herself.

Percy goes wide-eyed. "Look, I'm pretty sure Mrs. Dodds hates me. She's like out to get me or something. A B will be just fine."

Annabeth hides a smirk at his involuntary pun. She's not surprised about his statement-piper complains about the teacher an awful not.

"Shoot for the stars, though, right?" she suggests, and Percy shrugs a little.

"I guess."

"When's the wedding?"

"Four months from now?"

She nods.

"I guess you'll be super fit then," Percy realizes.

Annabeth groans at the reminder, and she's more than surprised when her heart flutters at his responsive smile. "This is going to suck so much."

"You'll be fine. It's fun. You'll see."

His words do little to comfort her, and she wrinkles her nose. "When do we start?"

"6 tomorrow."

She wracks her mind, contemplating her schedule. She has a chess club meeting then, but she can let the rest of the board know. It'll be fine.

"I have chess," she says. "But I can work it out."

"Ar 6 in the morning?" Percy gives her a weird look.

"Morning?! I thought you meant 6pm?"

Percy gives her a long look before throwing his head back and laughing.

Annabeth can feel her hope waning at the prospect.

He grins, at ease after all the tension, and her heart does that weird flip flop thing again. Piper wasn't wrong-he's certainly interesting eye candy.

"Annabeth Chase, right?" he muses, and she knows with certainty he's heard of her before now, just like she's heard of him. His reputation precedes him, and so she'd come to him first. "A scholar, but a late-waker. I'm surprised," he teases, and a reluctant smile tugs to her lips. "6am is late," he tells her, scooping up his gym back and taking a swig from the water bottle he'd conveniently tucked under his armpit. "I was thinking I'd ease you into it."

He turns to walk away, signifying their conversation is over.

"What about math?" she calls after him, uneasy.

"We'll talk tomorrow. We have from 6am, after all." Percy ducks out of the locker room or gym idk, leaving her as alone as she'd been at first.

What on earth has she gotten herself into?

…

Annabeth scowls at her shoes as she reluctantly laces them up, leaning back against the track and field shed. A shadow passes over her, making the dewy cold of the morning cooler. She squints up to see Percy nursing his water bottle.

"Ready?"

"For what?" Her voice shakes despite herself, and Annabeth swallows _hard_, the full realization of this multi-month long journey, this commitment finally truly sinking in.

"You're running the mile."

"I'm what?!" Annabeth glares up at him, but he only seems bewildered by her reaction. Idiot.

"The mile," Percy repeats, slowly blinking at her. "It's pretty standard for cross country and track kids." He shrugs to himself. "I just wanna see where you're at, and what we need to get to."

"You've got to be kidding me," she mutters under her breath. She knows, rationally, she's doing this for her own good, for that damn puppy, but it doesn't mean she _can't _complain.

Annabeth steels her mind, priding herself on her mental strength even if she's physically grown weaker through the years. _You can do this, Chase. The first hurdle of many, but a victory. Keep your eyes on the prize. _She feels a little like one of those cheesy Hallmark cards, but if it's get her through the _hell _she's about to torture herself to before school, then she'll be as cheesy as she likes.

She heads to the starting line, but Percy smiles to himself, amused. "Stretching first!" he declares, carelessly tossing his water bottle to one side. He offers her his hand, but Annabeth promptly ignores it. She's capable of standing on her own, thank you very much. Percy doesn't seem bothered by it in the slightest. Perhaps he's imagining exacting his revenge through her first 5k. Just the thought is enough to make her want to curl up on her couch and die.

Percy leads her through _dynamic _stretches, which is pretty much just a term for torture. What ever happened to sitting around and counting while you hold your toes?

Annabeth feels a little breathless after running back and forth like a fool, but when he asks if she's okay, she stiffly says yes. _I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay… _It becomes her mantra.

Percy eyes her carefully before flopping on the grass and pulling out his phone. "Great. Let's go. Line up your toes." He vaguely gestures to the painted white lines.

Annabeth curses under her breath. She hadn't ran the mile in _years, _not since she was forced in a crowd of sweater prepubescent boys and girls. They're not here now, and it only spikes her anxiety. _Percy's like a… _God _at this._ She regrets the thought the moment it comes, but all she can concentrate on now is the task at hand. She reminds herself of Frederick Chase, urging her to take it slow when she was four or five and frustrated with long division. She had come a long way since then. And she could do it again.

"Hey, when you're done," Percy begins on her left, "don't like collapse, mkay? Walk around a bit. It'll help." His eyes are filled with something. Was that… concern? "And don't drink a shit ton of water either. You'll cramp up, and it'll suck," he informs.

Annabeth purses her lips. Bold of him to assume she'll even finish. _Shut up, Annabeth. _She shakes her head, her tied back blonde curls moving with her. "Just start the time, Jackson."

He hesitates before counting down for her. She can feel his voice ringing in her head, and something about this moment feels oddly defining like this is the start of something new. _It is._ She takes a deep breath, and then she's running as fast as she can.

Annabeth makes it about halfway around the track before she begins to feel tired. It's kind of pathetic because she has to run _four, _fucking four, of these rings in a row to make a mile, but she feels it nonetheless. It's then that she realizes she can't fucking sprint it all. Her body's screaming, her bones creaky from lack of use. She's run before during _that _phase of her life, but not like this, not without obsessively sprinting short minutes at a time. This is much, much different. A flicker of appreciation for Percy and his team nudges its way into her heart. Before she knows it, she's completed the first lap.

She's mildly aware that Percy's scrutinizing her, turning his head and watching her running form. It makes her more insecure than she'd ever admit out loud, but it also pushes her. If he wasn't here, she would've stopped by now. One lap was more than enough. But his cool sea green eyes tap into her competitive spirit that's had its ups and downs, and in this moment she wants nothing more than to stick it to him. To show him she can run a mile, albeit probably slowly and tiredly, but she can run it at the end of the day. To show him she's more than he bargained for. To show him she's not completely hopeless.

In her third lap, Annabeth slows down. Her lungs feel like they're on fire, and she sort of wants to flop on the front, but she knows she can't. For one thing, Percy would probably panic, hysterical at a collapsed girl on his track. Secondly, the ground is hard and rough, and she's tired, but not _that _tired. Percy would probably murder her for staining his beloved track with her unfortunate blood too. Thirdly, she knows with a deep understanding that if she gives it up now, at the first stage, she'll give up entirely. She knows herself more than she gives herself for credit for, and she knows what makes her tick. She can _do _this.

Annabeth stumbles past the starting line, gasping for air like a fish. Her blood roars in her ears. _I can do it. _Every muscle in her protests. The soreness will come tomorrow, she knows that much with certainty. Her head pounds, and her chest hurts, and she's pretty sure she fractured every part of her strength, her hair's sweaty and probably gross and frizzy, her cheeks are probably bright red, she probably looks like hell on wheels, but she _did _it.

Annabeth grins to herself, uncharacteristically proud of her accomplishment—a small feat for any runner, but a leap in mankind for her.

"Walk!" Percy demands harshly from a few yards away, startling her, and scaring her into walking.

"What the hell, Percy?!" Annabeth jumps up from where she had begun to sit down, hastily walking out of fear and surprise. She shoots him a dirty look. He didn't have to _scare _her, jeezus.

Percy walks beside her now. "When you lie down after a workout, it's the same as your body hitting a brick wall going at a high speed." He pauses, thinking quietly. "When you're in the middle of a workout, the capillaries in your limbs open up to get more oxygen and nutrients in the muscles being used, which is excellent, but when the muscles are getting more blood flow, it takes blood away from the areas of your body," he explains. "When you're done working out, it's important to get that blood back to your brain and core, so nutrients can begin repair work. If you keep that blood in one place by lying down like starfish, the chances of you passing out are much higher."

Annabeth blinks at him, surprised by the extent of his knowledge. She supposes it was only natural he would know all this—the boy practically breathes fitness and track medals and records—but it was still odd to see him speak expertly with such ease. She mildly wonders if she can instill that confidence in his other studies. He'll surely succeed then. She quietly admires the way he walks, like a lion, graceful, calm, and collected. He feels at home here.

"You should gradually slow down the heart rate by moving so muscles work at low intensity," Percy concludes, handing her water. "Sip it slowly," he cautions.

This time she decides to do as she's told, deeming him knowledgeable enough to trust.

"That's a lot of information."

Percy sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "Well, I figure you're the type of girl who's motivated when you actually know _why."_

Annabeth gives him a weird look. It's true what he says, but it's weird he knows it. "Why do you know that?"

His cheeks color pink. "I was talking to Piper," he reveals. "I wanted to figure out the best way to get you to do this. For most people, they either give up not even a few sessions in, or they achieve their goals because they want a certain body to impress a girl." He rolls his eyes, and Annabeth has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. His exasperation is entertaining. "But I just had a nagging feeling you wouldn't be attracted to that sort of thing. What better way to draw you in than to mentally stimulate you?" He sounds nervous, like he's not sure, and Annabeth's heart swells because honestly he did _not _have to do that, but it's so sweet, and this time she can't fight the smile.

"Fair enough," she reluctantly gives in. His mouth curves up, relieved, and it only makes her heart beat faster.

Annabeth takes a swig of cool water before gesturing to his phone. "How'd I do?"

"Not bad. 11 minutes and 24 seconds."

Annabeth considers his words. "What's the average?"

He awkwardly runs his hand through his hair, and she knows it's bad. "Um. My team's girls typically run it in under 5 minutes."

Annabeth's jaw drops immediately. "That's impossible!" Sure, she's watched them sprint, their long legs carrying them far, carefully sculpted like boa constrictors, but she never imagines it's this insane. It's been so long since she's been on a track.

"They're huge athletes though!" Percy holds up his hands in surrender. "You can't _possibly _compare yourself to them," he reasons.

Annabeth gnaws on her bottom lip. She doesn't tell him she used to be a huge athlete. "Fine. How about the average female, period. Not competitive or anything."

Percy grimaces. "9 minutes, 55 seconds by itself, 10 minutes, 58 in marathons," he rattles off.

Annabeth wilts, visibly deflating. She's not even good enough to compete with average women who like to run anymore. She kind of hates herself for it because she's the one who's put herself in this position, and something awful begins to eat away at her chest.

"Well, this sucks." Suddenly, her 'accomplishment' doesn't seem so big anymore.

Percy frowns. "Okay, listen." His hand hovers over her shoulder before awkwardly falling to his side, but she stops for him anyways. She can't meet his eyes. "If we're going to do this, you can't talk like this. You can't feel discouraged by others' accomplishments. And I know it blows. It fucking sucks ass, Annabeth, I'm not going to lie. Don't you think it sucks every time I realize Usain Bolt runs the 100-meter in less than 10 seconds, and I can barely make 10:46."

Annabeth blinks. That's stupid. Even _she_ knows the average high school boy runs it in 14-15 seconds—Percy is incredibly fast, around 40 seconds away from the Olympic cutoff to qualify.

"And I know that sounds like nothing to you, but to me it's soul-crushing."

She's taken aback by his brutal honesty and his uncanny ability to read her mind.

"You can't fucking compare yourself to people every step of the way. You haven't even trained yet, but you can still run the mile. That's incredible, and you should be proud. Meeting just under 11 minutes will be relatively easy. We'll just have to make sure you can do it 26 times in a row."

_26 times._ Her shoulders feel heavy.

"Chase, you did good." He's sincere—she can tell—so why does she feel like crap right now?

"Mhmm," she half heartedly agrees, scooping up her things. She has to tutor some kids before school starts in like an hour. She needs to shower too. Fuck.

"Annabeth." The use of her given name makes her snap her eyes up to meet his, momentarily halting precariously balancing her belongings.

"Yes?" Her mouth feels dry.

"Just… don't give up on this so soon, okay?" His brows furrow together, his expression earnest. "I could see it on your face when you were running. You can do this. Running is being mentally strong first and foremost, and _that_ is one of the few things that can't be taught."

She's not sure she believes him still, but his words ring sweet. "Thanks," she begrudgingly permits, looking back down to the task at hand. She refrains from peeling of her shoes, unnerved by the idea of Percy seeing her sweaty feet.

"Tomorrow, same place, same time?" she inquires, hugging her Calculus textbook close to her chest.

He shakes his head. "Weight room tomorrow, but same time. We're going to try building some muscle." His eyes soften at her curt nod. "Are we on for afterschool?"

She has to tutor him. Right. "Yeah. My house," she decides. "After practice for you, and after Science Olympiad for me. The library will probably be closed then. I'll text you," she offers.

His fingers tap against the side of the plastic bottle distractingly. She can't quite read the look on his face, and it makes her uncomfortable that she can't read him as easily as she can read others.

"Okay," he agrees quietly, his voice a little off.

Annabeth swiftly dismisses it, noting the strange encounter, but choosing not to dwell on it. She graded her student's essay last night, and she honestly has bigger things to worry about.

She's acutely aware of his burning gaze on her, not leaving her until she walks through the school doors.

…

"So how did it go?" Piper's suspiciously eager to interrogate her at lunch, and Annabeth doesn't even have to ask to know what she's curious about.

The blonde rolls her eyes, popping open her lunch box with fatigue. Her muscles had been aching all day, and she's dreading tomorrow already.

"Piper, honestly, you're so intrusive. It was fine." Her voice is bitter, and Piper gives her the evil eye because she knows Annabeth's in a sour mood, but she blatantly ignores it.

"That's it?" Piper presses. "What did you do?" She changes the question, and Annabeth groans to herself before putting her head down in her arms and giving into the table.

"I ran the mile. I sucked. End of story."

Piper rolls her eyes. "_Not _end of story," she retorts. "How was Percy? Isn't he adorable?"

Annabeth stares at her. "Piper, you have a boyfriend."

"That doesn't mean I can't admire him from afar," she reasons. "Jason's heard me like this before," she dismisses, flapping her hand carelessly.

Annabeth cringes; poor Jason. Piper's _talks _were never fun, nothing short of awkward, really. "Jason's a saint," the blonde praises his patience.

"He's an idiot," Thalia corrects, taking her usual seat. She doesn't usually stay long, preferring to hide out from the usual crowd of high schoolers and wallowing in the girls' bathrooms with her other 'punk' friends. Annabeth glances to the red slip of paper in her hand. It stands out, a sore sight.

"Detention, again?" Annabeth quips, the judgement apparent in her voice. She doesn't judge Thalia, not really, but more her taste in the people she surrounds herself with. They're always getting her into trouble. It doesn't help that Mr. D, the vice principal, takes one look at their safety-pinned jackets and multiple ear piercings and hands them slip after slip.

Thalia scowls. "I didn't even do anything. That old drunkard's out to get me."

Annabeth has no doubt that it's true. Mr. D was a salty soul. Annabeth's theory is that his fat beer belly hinders his ability to process… anything, really. She also knows that this is the fourth red paper Thalia's gotten in the past two weeks, and she never attends even one. Zeus pays the school a lot of money, money that goes straight into Dionysus' pockets instead of into the school of course, and he'd never dare punish Thalia enough for fear she'll ask her father to quit writing checks.

"Later, Thals," Piper pleads, turning back to Annabeth who had been, admittedly, all too eager to get off the topic of her first morning of marathon-training. Her feet are still aching.

Thalia's not even listening, arguing with someone behind them. Piper pays her no attention.

"Jason doesn't mind," Piper reminds Annabeth, picking back up on the earlier conversation. "He's still my favorite," the brunette croons, and Annabeth kind of wants to hide because moony-eyed Piper is _not_ a Piper she particularly enjoys dwelling on.

"How is Jason, anyway?" Annabeth's hoping she'll sidetrack Piper from fishing out more details from her bland, somewhat depressing morning.

"He's a _dream_," Piper gushes, presumably taking the bait. "I'm chuffed to bits!"

There she goes again with her British slang.

"He baked me biscuits two days ago." Piper smiles involuntarily. "It was for a bake sale, of course, for the debate team."

Annabeth is familiar with Jason's title as team captain, and she nods encouragingly. She glances at the clock. She only really needs to stall for three more minutes before the bell, and she thinks she can pull that much off.

"They weren't great," Piper reluctantly admits, laughing to herself. "But it's the thought that counts! And he even put extra chocolate chips in mine because he _knows _it's my favorite thing, and honestly why isn't everyone like him?" She laces her long fingers together, resting her chin on her hands. Her arms are smooth and lean like a model, the color of cinnamon.

An inkling of jealousy pries its way into her heart. She's not jealous of Piper and Jason, no; they deserve each other, and she's happy for them, and she honestly can't see either one of them with anyone else. She can already see them going to college together, and getting married, and maybe having a few perfect kids, and a dog too because they're just that type of people. They'll probably adopt a kid too, and their dog will come from a rescue shelter. She's not jealous of Piper's natural beauty either, or the long stares she gets. Piper's parents are beautiful too, but the beauty comes with a price. Piper's model of a mother's never home, and her dad's an actor, which keeping under wraps is another issue in itself.

Annabeth's just tired of being a weak link, of not feeling good enough, of being the flaw in Piper's good life. It's hard not to wallow in self-pity, but Annabeth strays from the feeling. Pity never does anyone any good. Besides, she's not jealous. She'll never be. She's happy for everyone as she should be.

Piper's run out of steam while Annabeth was contemplating her best friends, and Annabeth panics internally because she can't go back to Piper's commentary on Percy, she just _can't_—

"Can you watch Matthew and Bobby tonight?" It's not a complete lie; she'd been meaning to ask Piper earlier, but this way maybe she can shove the attention off herself a bit more.

The inkling blossoms, and Annabeth feels the familiar, dull sting of jealousy course through her veins at full force finally when Piper's eyes light up immediately.

Piper's so good with her brothers, better than she is. And they adore her. She's patient and kind and funny, and Annabeth's pretty sure Matthew has the tiniest crush on her. Piper deserves her brothers, she really does. The three of them are so happy together.

Piper has siblings too—half-siblings like Annabeth—but it's very different, Annabeth knows.

Aphrodite left their family a long time ago. Annabeth likes to say she simply enjoys casual sex, words that make her cringe everytime because honestly who wants to talk about their friend's mother's 'love' life? Piper likes to say she's a whore. They tend to have slightly differing opinions.

It doesn't matter what you call it, though, because Piper has siblings she doesn't even know all over the world, and some of whom she does. She's met Drew Tanaka, a high school senior who lives in Japan, and is a cutthroat aspiring model to rival Aphrodite's younger version herself, and they've both met Silena, who hails from Tours, France, but goes to college in Paris. Lacy is English, only fueling Piper's love for all things British, and she lives in the suburbs of Liverpool, a fourth grader. Valentina Diaz is only seven, and she lives in Zaragoza, Spain. Matthew's the only one who lives in the USA, stuck all the way across the coast, way out in southern California. He's about Piper's age, seventeen, and Annabeth's astonished every time she sees a picture of him because _holy gods _he looks like a Greek God. They all do.

They're not a family; they're dysfunctional. Annabeth knows this too. Piper deserves family. She deserves a dad who pays attention, who doesn't live in LA, states away, leaving her alone in a big house. She deserves brothers like hers, who are always happy to see her, who cling to her like she's all that matters.

"Why?" Piper's voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts.

"What?" When Annabeth looks up, she realizes Thalia probably left a while ago. She feels a stab of guilt for not bidding her other best friend goodbye.

"What do you have tonight?" Piper restates. "I mean, of course I'll watch them." The brunette offers a half-grin. "They love my place, and you know I love them." That was true. Piper's house was opulent and beautiful, but it doesn't mean much when you live in it alone.

"I have tutoring," Annabeth answers honestly.

Piper's eyebrows furrow in confusement. "You tutor after school, though, not that late."

The bell rings on cue, saving her. Annabeth quickly picks up her possessions, packing them away with haste. "I have another student now," she explains briefly. "I have to accommodate their hours. They're really busy."

Piper watches her walk out the door, shying from a further explanation. She's not _ashamed _of Percy. She just doesn't want to be in Piper's direct line of fire.

"Okay?" Piper calls hesitantly after her. Annabeth pretends she doesn't hear, ducking her head into her books as she lets the sea of kids carry her far, far away from here. She feels the relief settle in to be one of the anonymous, dead faces in a crowd of many. Nobody will care about her when she's only one of many. She prefers it that way. She throws her untouched lunch away on the way out.

…

His hair is wet.

Annabeth finds herself staring at it as he awkwardly shuffles into her house. She guesses he showered after practice before running over to her house. She's grateful both for the fresh scent of soap over a sweaty body and for the empty house. She really doesn't need her step-mother all up in her business, and she's never loved Alice's yoga classes more than now or Frederick's job or Piper's willingness to watch her troublesome half-brothers.

"Nice house."

"Thanks," she awkwardly replies, suddenly feeling self-conscious with him in her house, which is just stupid. All she can see is her brothers' Pokemon cards scattered across the coffee table and the fat stack of their somewhat violent, odd drawings. She subtly sweeps them out of sight, tucking them under the decorative bowl. She hopes he doesn't notice.

There's dumb pictures of her as a kid on the wall next to her brothers. Athena's not in any of them, obviously, and Annabeth sticks out like a sore thumb, the only semblance of her relation to her so-called family the blonde hair she shares with her dad. She can feel Percy gazing at them, his mouth opening and closing, questions surely pending on the tip of his tongue. He must choose not to ask them, though, because he snaps his mouth shut, falling quiet.

"Let's get started," Annabeth quickly suggests before he can delve too far into her family's complex history. It's not something she really wants to get into, especially not with an almost-stranger.

She prefers to save the harrowing emotional bullshit for people whose numbers she'll conveniently lose the next morning or for the therapist her dad forced her to see months ago before Annabeth put down her foot, calling it quits. Therapy only uncovered flaws she'd worked so hard to cover up with layers and layers of dry humor.

Percy quickly agrees, taking a seat across from her at the kitchen table. Annabeth offers him food, but he politely turns it down, saying he ate after practice. He says his mom is the fussy type, and Annabeth can't exactly relate, but she pretends she can anyways.

It's nice to feel normal, even if they both know they're faking.

…

Percy's face twists in frustration.

Annabeth blinks down at the math problem, doing her best to see it from a fresh perspective.

"I have an idea."

Percy watches curiously as she rummages through the kitchen cabinets. She emerges a moment later, triumphantly holding up an open package of Alice's secret stash of peanut MMs.

"You're not allergic, are you?"

He dutifully shakes his head no.

"Good." Carelessly, Annabeth dumps the contents onto the light wood. Colorful peanut chocolates skid across the smooth surface, and Percy quickly spares some from spilling over the edge with his quick reflexes. He helps her put them into one pile in the center.

"My dad used to teach me basic mathematics with candy," she explains. Annabeth gingerly picks up a yellow piece and a blue one, splitting the chocolate bits up into groups. "This'll be more complicated, but it's the same concept." She makes arbitrary groups—or at least they seem that way. "Imagine these are the matrices." She points to the six groups. "And these are your products." She points to the remaining pile of loose MMs. "Let's arrange these to multiply."

Matrices are hard to visualize for some people, and she knows that if she can _show _him, perhaps offer him chocolate as an incentive, he'll understand.

"Number four." Her fingernail taps against his notebook. "How do you set up the problem?"

Percy squints at it, trying to remember. "Row by column," he slowly recalls.

"Right. How do you know if you can multiply?"

"Inside."

"Yes. So the columns… they _do _match up with the rows," she confirms. "The dimensions—how do we do that?"

"Outside."

"So 3 by…."

"3," he completes. She's pleased that he understands.

"You can shift the MMs," she assures him at his hesitation. "If it helps you see how to turn the column to match up, go ahead."

Percy reluctantly shifts a few things around, using the loose chocolates to make the products. He glances up at her when he's finished, unsure.

"That's right," she promises. "That's easier, right?"

He bobs his head obediently. His eyelashes are distractingly long and handsome. She swallows hard. "Then it shouldn't be difficult to get the real answer. Pretend those MMs are the numbers. Replace them," she instructs. He scribbles it out on his paper. "Move the columns like you _just _did." He does as he's told. She pushes a calculator towards him. "Calculate." Percy's features pinch downward as he calculates the determinant. He glances to the answer, biting the inside of his cheek when he realizes it's right.

Silence washes over him. Math really isn't that bad. Annabeth blames the lack of understanding on the failed educational system, not the children. Percy's exceedingly bright, she realizes as time passes. They work through graphing sine and cosine, which he flies through, and they push harder through the word problems, which he, like most students, gets stuck over. They're simply, if not a little wordy that's all.

"You can eat the chocolate," she says after a moment. He eats two of them before pushing the pile over to her in a quiet offering. Annabeth doesn't hesitate before declining. She hasn't had candy in at least five years; it's not really her thing.

She tells him if he needs any help and that she'll see him tomorrow morning for training. He mumbles out gratitude, which she quickly brushes off, watching him from her front door as he climbs into his car, driving off into the setting sun of the evening. Her parents will be home soon, and she knows she should go do her own homework, but something keeps her glued to the doorframe, watching even long after he's gone.

Percy's an enigma, she decides, not unlike herself. He's confident, but self-critical and uncertain. He's bold, but quiet. And he always seems a little bit like an outsider, but he's at home when he's with people he knows.

Annabeth quietly closes the door behind her.

Maybe she's finally found someone who understands. It's bewildering. He's bewildering.

She's dreading tomorrow morning, but if she has to haul her ass in early to see his face, maybe it's not as bad as it seems.

…

It's worse, actually. It's a lot worse than she could have possibly anticipated.

Her arms feel skinny under the harsh lights, and the weight room is cold and abandoned this early in the morning. Annabeth finds herself involuntarily shivering.

When Percy walks in, he barely glances at her. It's awkward because she knows why, she knows he's ignoring the lavender crescents under her eyes and the peppered purple bruises, barely the size of her pinky, sporadically lining her shoulders. She wonders if he notices, but if he does, he doesn't ask, and she's grateful.

"What do weights have to do with running?" Annabeth suspiciously eyes the stacks of dumbells in the corner. Most of them are heavier than she is, and it's vaguely threatening, in the way that sunflowers taller than you make you squint a little. She never used to use weights when she used to run, only obsessively ran the treadmill.

"Shouldn't we be, I don't know, _running?_" she sarcastically drawls, reveling in the way his mouth curves into a reluctant smile as he rolls his eyes.

"Smartass."

She smirks.

"_Actually,_ building muscle is great to extend endurance," Percy quips, and this time _she _has to roll her eyes because he sounds like such a fucking nerd. Just like her.

…

"You clearly don't want this."

Annabeth's mouth parts in surprise at his audacity. How dare he insinuate that she doesn't care, that she's not trying, that she's not putting her fucking all into this every second of every day? The mere notion that she of all people didn't care is, simply put, fucking ludicrous.

The perspiration beading on her forehead fades into insignificance. With her last burst of energy, Annabeth runs an _extra_ lap out of pure spite.

Her shoulders hunch forward as she huffs and puffs, her breath spreading in small, white in the morning air. Her eyes glint in victory. "Go…" she struggles to catch her breath, "go fuck yourself," she spits, indignant yet triumphant.

Percy raises an eyebrow amused. It's Friday now, and she can hardly believe she's been doing this for _two whole weeks._

"Gods, you're predictable," he retorts.

"What?" She thinks she's heard him wrong.

Percy chuckles to himself, pleased. It makes her heart do flip flops. "If someone tells you that you can't, you will." He shrugs one shoulder.

Annabeth thinks she should be offended, she really does, but he's taken the time to _know_ her, and there's something so inexplicably heartwarming about it.

"What do you have first hour?"

She turns to look at him as she slips into her regular sneakers, changing her socks as she goes. He's awkwardly hobbling around, doing his best to change out of running shoes standing up. Noticing his struggle, Annabeth makes space for him on the rickety bench, and he obliges.

"Lit, why?" She tucks a rogue curl behind her ear, feeling gross. All she can envision is a steaming hot shower all by herself, save for a worn copy of Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein._

Percy thinks for a moment. "Do you have any quizzes?"

It's a half day today, the day before mid-winter break, but Annabeth always comes to school. Always.

She tilts her head to one side. "No…?"

He beams. "Great. Let's go."

"Go?"

Percy fiddles with his keys. "I'm hungry, I bet you're hungry, you worked hard all week, and I want IHOP."

Annabeth's heart sinks in her chest. "You want to ditch school?"

Percy chuckles. "It's one day, Annabeth, not even a full one at that. Besides, we're only in high school so much longer. We should enjoy it while we can."

Annabeth purses her lips. "And when do you propose we return by?"

"Return?" Percy stares at her. "There's twenty minutes until school starts. After that, there's only four hours until we're finished. We can come back at the end, so you can get your car, and then we go home."

Annabeth blinks at him. "That's highly irresponsible. I don't want that on my transcript."

"Relax," he assures her. "We'll call in sick." It's tempting to leave school behind, but Annabeth only feels dread regarding his entire plan. "So why don't we make a day out of it?" Percy persuades as if she's totally not having a mental breakdown here.

"I can't," she decides, and that's that. Except he doesn't seem to think so.

Percy studies her intensely, and she feels herself squirming in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable by his close proximity.

"Look, I'm not going to force you to come," he assures her like he knows she's unnerved. She appreciates it. "I just know that's what I'll be doing today. I even took my math quiz yesterday just in case I wasn't going to come in today."

Annabeth gapes at his cheeky grin. "You planned this?"

"A little bit," he admits.

Annabeth feels guilty then. He'd gone out of his way to invite her to come with her, and he even offered to drive. She won't promise she'll eat pancakes—the sheer quantity of carbs and sugar is somewhat terrifying—but she'll come nonetheless.

"Okay," Annabeth acquiesces. His eyes light up immediately, and she thinks to herself that _that_ look could solve cancer, and war, and the whole world.

Percy helps her up, and she doesn't mind his sweaty hands so much when hers are equally as gross.

…

"What do you think?"

"Hmm?" Annabeth peers at him over his menu, only to find him nose-deep in the floppy paper, his face scrunched in concentration. She finds he has this habit of half-asking questions, like he expects her to know what she's thinking, which, strangely enough, she often does.

"New York Cheesecake pancakes or Italian Cannoli pancakes?" Percy contemplates out loud. Annabeth's eyes widen at the large stack pictured in the menu, but somehow she has no doubt Percy can eat it all, and then burn off all the calories in less than five hours. He's kind of amazing like that.

"I don't know."

Percy rolls his eyes. "What do you mean you don't know? Have you never been here before?"

Slowly, she shakes her head no. The calories on the pages are enough to give her a heart attack just looking at them.

Percy slams the menu shut with a dramatic, final flair. "It's settled then. We'll get both, so you can try the supreme flavors of IHOP."

Her eyes nearly bug out of her head. "That's so much food!" she whisper-hisses. "There's no way in hell we can finish that."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Percy!"

"Fine." He purses his lips. "Read it for me," he requests.

Annabeth obliges. She had uncovered his ADHD and dyslexia four hours into their first tutoring session, unexpectedly embarrassing him, but more so making her understand why he was struggling so much. Percy's been dealt a tough hand of cards, but she knows he can do anything if he has a little guidance. She's more than happy to help him out.

"Four buttermilk pancakes filled with cheesecake bites and topped with glazed strawberries," she reads, her tone light and sweet. She scans upward. "Three buttermilk pancakes rolled and filled with sweet Ricotta cream and chocolate pieces topped with crunchy cannoli pieces, chocolate chips and creamy whipped topping."

"Italian Cannoli it is," says Percy, and her mouth tugs into a smile. "What about you?" He neatly puts his menu at the edge for the waitress' convenience, and her heart swells at his small, but thoughtful actions.

"Coffee," she decides, biting her bottom lip nervously. Her adrenaline was going nuts. "Maybe fruit."

"Oh the rooty, tooty, fruity, booty, whatever the fuck it is, pancakes?"

She laughs despite herself. They both know he knows what it actually is, and his wild efforts to make her laugh are always welcome. He's so ridiculous, and she finds that she loves it more than she should.

But she shakes her head no. "I literally just want fruit. This is fucking crazy; even their salads have like… 300 calories and _sugar_ in it. How do salads have non-natural sugars?" she ponders.

Percy lets out an exasperated sigh. "You can't be serious. You can't come to IHOP for the _first time_ and eat a _side_, Annabeth. Forget the salads."

The guilt comes back to her now. She knows she should tell him, but she knows that it won't be easy, and she knows he'll look at her differently, and she can't bear to do it. She shifts uncomfortably. This is why she hadn't wanted to come.

"I'm good, Percy, really."

"Annabeth, you need to recharge," he reasons. "You've been doing so well all week. You don't need to cut calories just because we're training for a marathon. You can probably eat more, actually, from protein especially."

Annabeth scratches the inside of her palm. "I'm not cutting calories," she reasons. "I already ate breakfast this morning." That's a lie. She had half an orange, one almond, and three glasses of water to be exact.

Percy stares at her. "Annabeth, part of my job to help you is to ease you into eating right alongside training right, so you can have a successful marathon day. Eat something _real_," he insists.

Her stomach's twisting into knots, and she feels like she's going to throw up. She can't physically put this stuff in her mouth; she knows she'll freak out. Annabeth's panicking now, but her internal conflict was unnoticed by the oblivious boy across from her.

"Fruit _is_ real," she weakly argues.

Percy's quiet. "Are you feeling sick? Do you want me to drive you home?" he gently asks. There's worry in his eyes, and it makes her feel like a shit human being. He's too kind, really. "I can bring your car over later if that's what you're worried about. I can get Jason to help me."

Annabeth stubbornly shakes her head no, shying away from his intense gaze. "I'm fine." She swallows the lump in her throat, and her mouth feels dry.

"Do you want to share with me? It's okay if you don't want an entire dish," he assures her.

Again she shakes her head no. Maybe she's just paranoid, but part of her thinks he's figured it out. Then she looks at him, and she confirms she's being paranoid. There's no way to just guess and know.

"Maybe I'll save some for lunch later," she caves. She wants to scream at her words, but relief floods Percy's expression, and she knows she's said the right thing.

She doesn't want to think about what comes after. Not yet.

"That's fine. That's what my mom does," Percy says, and she's relieved when their conversation shifts back to its original, lighthearted state. "How do you like your coffee?" He stacks her menu on hers, his eyes darting around to call over a waiter.

"Black."

"Like your soul?" Percy jokes, and she cracks an uneasy smile.

"Like my soul."

She barely touches her breakfast the entire time, opting to box it. If Percy notices, he doesn't say anything. Annabeth makes sure to eat a few bites, though, so it's not suspicious.

When she gets home, it's half past ten. She feels irrational tears, the box of pancakes in her hands. Annabeth carefully puts it in the fridge for her brothers when they come home from school, and she goes straight to the bathroom, her conscious heavy.

It isn't supposed to be like this. She's supposed to be better. This marathon is supposed to make her better.

She knows her dad encouraged her to do it to attain a fully healthy lifestyle, both mentally and physically. One where her bones don't ache, and her stomach doesn't hurt something fierce. One where her mind isn't clouded with food twenty-four-seven.

It's almost routine, really, when she sticks two fingers down her throat and gags over the toilet bowl.

Tears of disappointment roll down her cheeks. She wonders, absentmindedly, if this is what it feels like to relapse. She didn't often make herself throw up, only kept from eating in the first place, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and she's never felt more desperate than she does right now.

She doesn't blink after she's done throwing up, only calmly brushing her teeth and watching herself in the mirror, like she's a stranger she once used to know, a hollow shell of who she used to be.

She wonders if Percy would be disappointed in her, and, with heavy guilt, she knows with certainty he would.

Annabeth slouches over the counter, putting her head in her hands and crumpling into a heaving mess.

…

She texts him that night. No training tomorrow, please. She internally begs for him not to ask questions, but she knows it's inevitable. She would never skip training like this. Never.

His response comes immediately.

(10:24pm) **are you sick?**

(10:24pm) **I'm so sorry.**

She frowns because that's such a Percy thing to do, to apologize even when it's no way even remotely his fault. She kind of wants to cry again, actually, but she's all cried out for now.

(10:25pm) _yes_

But not in the way he thinks.

(10:26pm) **I must've pushed you too hard**

(10:26pm) **Shit, you really didn't have to run that extra lap today, you know?**

(10:27pm) **Feel better**

Her heart sinks in her chest.

(10:29pm) _It's not your fault._

(10:30pm) _I should've known my limits._

Annabeth chews on her bottom lip. Yes, she really should've.

(10:31pm) **No**

(10:32pm) **It's my job to make sure you're doing okay**

(10:32pm) **That was super irresponsible of me**

(10:33pm) **I'm fucking sorry, Annabeth**

(10:40pm) **And you have that huge math test Monday**

(10:41pm) **Oh gods**

(10:54pm) **If you want to stab me, I really don't blame u**

Annabeth can't find it within her to respond, but when he relentlessly texts her, she gives in.

(10:57pm) _I'd never do that._

(10:58pm) _Don't worry about the test_

(10:58pm) _I'll be okay_

(10:59pm) _See you Mon?_

She never wants to face him again, and Annabeth shrinks in her bed, sweaty and sick. She's pretty sure she's running a mild fever at this point. She needs to stop being so clammy, or her dad's going to find out, and she doesn't even want to _imagine _what that conversation will be like.

(11:01pm) **Of course. Feel better**

(11:01pm) **Night, Wise Girl**

She tosses her phone across her bed, her hands trembling before collapsing backwards onto her bed again. She can't fucking do this.

…

Monday comes and goes. She doesn't go to school.

It's stupid. He probably just thinks she has a really bad cold or something, and she finds that even more horrifying.

Piper texts her every hour of every day, checking in on her. Thalia texts her a grand total of two times, an accomplishment for her. She never fucking checks her phone, not usually, but she makes an exception for Annabeth. Her dad kisses her forehead before he leaves for work. Alice even leaves her soup in the fridge, which she guiltily knows she'll never eat. Bobby and Matthew draw her a picture at school. She hangs them on her whiteboard, much to their delight.

It doesn't stop her from feeling crappy, though. She knows she'll have to go to school the next day. It's a rotten realization.

…

Tuesday morning is absolute hell, but she can't skip another day. She already ditched Friday and called in sick again Monday, and Tuesday, she has a big AP BC Calculus practice test for the official College Board test in May. She can't afford to miss it.

Annabeth finds comfort in her dad's Harvard hoodie. She's kind of drowning in it, actually, but it reminds her of him in the toughest moments of her day, and she manages to power through.

But when Piper asks her if she's okay over and over again, fussing over her all day, some of that facade crumbles. Thalia asks her if she wants a cupcake at lunch, which she profusely turns down. Annabeth even carries around a box of tissues for it to be convincible. She realizes with sick understanding that it's really not necessary; she looks sick without it anyways.

Percy runs up behind her in the hallway when he catches sight of her. Annabeth freezes, her blood running cold. He's the one person she _especially _doesn't want to talk to.

"Chase, hey!" he brightly greets her in passing time before 6th period. Her chest lances with pain at his comforting, familiar voice. "Are you feeling better?" He takes one look at her before frowning. "Christ, you look like hell, kiddo."

She shrugs half-heartedly. "I feel like it." It's true, but again, it's not for the reason he has in mind.

He nods sympathetically. "Do you need anything?" he generously offers. He takes her backpack from her without a word, and she knows she doesn't fucking deserve his kindness. The guilt is eating at her in ways she'd never thought possible.

"No," Annabeth quickly counters. "But thank you. I can carry my own bag, you know," she says, pointing half-heartedly to her book bag.

"It's no big deal," Percy assures her, hugging it tight to his chest. "You have European History next, right?" he confirms, and she nods, if not a little dazed. He even knows her schedule. She twists her fingers, wringing her palms together.

"How was bio?" he asks, stepping in front of the giant guys that would crush her flat in a second. It's the little things like that that make her realize just how much she fucking likes him. And it hurts. Because she knows she's a grenade, and she's on a path to destruction, and he doesn't need her shitty attitude and poor mental health in his life.

Maybe it's the fact that he doesn't even take bio—he loathes it, actually, or that she just knows he's not asking like everyone else, not to pry into her grades, or to make small talk, but because he genuinely wants to know and cares, but that familiar burning feeling in the back of her eyes is back again. She's never cried at school before, not even in second grade when Maya pushed her off the monkey bars, and she fell and broke her wrist, not even in fourth grade when someone stole her model car from her, and she got in trouble for showing them how she felt about, and they'd gone home with a purple bruise on their jaw, and her with a new friend (Thalia Grace who'd whistled at her punch) and a call-home for a talk with the principal, but right now, she's splitting at the seams, and Percy notices because a dangerous tear wells in her eyes, and then slides down, and then there's another one, and then another, and it's all happening so fast.

She can feel Percy's hand on her shoulder. "Tell me what's wrong," he demands, but it's gentle. He's pulled them over to the side. The bell's going to ring soon, and it's giving her anxiety, but he's not moving at all—it's perhaps the most still his ADHD ass has _ever _been—and she only cries harder.

Percy's patient, not commenting on her pathetic, incoherent blubbering or her red-rimmed eyes and disgustingly runny nose.

"Do you want to go home?" he asks, giving her easy yes/no questions to answer when he realizes she can't really articulate her overwhelming emotions right now.

She shakes her head no.

"Does your head hurt?"

She nods. It hurts from crying so much.

"Do you want me to get you Tylenol from Piper?"

She shakes her head no. He doesn't need to help her, he doesn't need to go to great lengths, not for her.

"Do you want a hug?"

That one catches her off guard. She hasn't had a hug in _years. _She refuses for her grubby little brothers to put their sticky hands on her, Alice and her don't have that type of relationship, Thalia hates hugs, her dad and her are just plain awkward, and Piper chooses to respect her wishes to keep a distance from people. If they don't get close, they can't get hurt by her.

He takes her silence for a yes.

Annabeth's stiff at first, but slowly she allows herself to melt into his warm embrace. Percy's comforting, and he's like a big bear, his soft sweater enveloping her in heat and the scent of the fresh ocean. She feels bad when a few stray, pathetic tears leak onto the cotton. He doesn't care.

"A little bit better?" he asks, pulling away. The warning bell sounds over them. Kids scramble to get to their classes. They're both going to be late, she knows that too. For the first time in forever, she doesn't seem to mind.

Annabeth nods even though it's not much better. His hugs can cure fatal diseases, can warm the coldest of hearts, but they can't mend a broken heart. At least not completely. And they can't take all her pain away; she's the only one who can do that, but it's one hell of a struggle. Annabeth opens her mouth to come clean, to tell him exactly what's going on, but she snaps it shut obediently. She can't bring herself to do it.

"Tell me about your puppy," Percy tells her as he slowly walks her to her class. He's still carrying her backpack, mind you.

Her heavy heart lifts the slightest at the mention of the fuzzball. Annabeth quietly says with sparing sentences about German shepherds. Percy's patient and attentive.

When she finally sits down in her seat, and Percy asks her one more time if she's okay before making her promise to text him if she needs anything, anything at all, it finally occurs to her that Percy acts the way those boys do in the cheesy rom-coms she won't admit she secretly likes around the holidays.

He holds her when she cries, he forcefully feeds her when she 'forgets,' he brushes her hair out of her face when neither of them are really paying attention, he asks her to read to him, he asks her about her day, he always texts her good night, and he makes her laugh during workouts even when she's fucking terrible. He calls her at random periods on weekends, just to hear her voice, just to procrastinate doing any real work until she berates him to get a move on, he replaces her water bottle with a larger one because _it's for your own good_, _Annabeth._ He lets her borrow a hoodie when it's especially cold outside, he brings her cookies his mom made over the holidays (even if she just gives them to her family, unable to eat them), he throws crumbled paper at her when she's not looking (and in each, in uneven letters, are punny jokes he's written himself), he lets her press the buttons in the elevator, he pretends to open automatic doors with the Force, and then he gestures with mocking chivalry for her to walk through first. He listens to her boring rants about architecture, he tells her when he's aced his tests and beams at her praise, he calls 'Wise Girl' and lets her call him 'Seaweed Brain' even though she knows he feels insecure about his intelligence sometimes (though he really shouldn't). He refuses to eat fish because _fish are friends, not food_, and he lets her swim instead of running laps sometimes because it's more fun, and he's really good, but he promises he won't let her drown. He tells her ridiculous jokes at the most inappropriate moments, he narrates her every day actions like a sports announcer, making her laugh, he watches Discovery Channel with her after studying, he takes her to meet his mom (who absolutely adores her at first sight), he loves his mom more than anything else in the world and his mom's boyfriend Paul is okay with him too, he builds up Jason's confidence, he helps Hazel make rings for her jewelry class even if he really doesn't know how, he cheers for Will, the boyfriend of Hazel's brother—who apparently who doesn't go to their school, when he wins at HOSA districts, he unashamedly sings happy birthday to Frank in the middle of the lunchroom despite the boy's flaming red cheeks of embarrassment, he keeps away from Nancy, that bully, he stands up against Clarisse for Annabeth's friend Rachel Dare, whose interpretative art won 1st in states, and he stands by his crippled friend Grover through thick and thin.

It feels like all the breath's been knocked out of her as Annabeth stares blankly at the board in front of her, her mouth suddenly very dry.

She thinks she might like him a little more than she'd originally bargained for. She knows Piper will squeal with excitement if she tells her, but she also knows she's kinda crazy, and he doesn't fucking need her issues in her life. It's a tough pill to swallow, but it's not like she swallows anything else anyways. It stings to be imperfect when he's so wholly good.

Annabeth puts her head down for most of class, and when she goes home, she just sleeps it off like a coma, but when she wakes up the next morning, she's more terrified of the fact that rather than her feelings squandering under the pressure overnight, they've exponentially _grown_, blooming out of her control, out of her touch.

She's scared out of her fucking mind. She's never lost control like this before, except for one aspect of her life, and she _knows _how 'well' that's turned out for her.

When he smiles at her, her knees turn to jelly. When he crushes her in another signature bear-hug when she successfully runs a 10k, she's overtaken by the urge to kiss him, and she feels a little stupid, like one of the ditzy motherfuckers she promised she'd never be. She thinks Piper can already guess, which only makes it worse when the brunette's constantly smirking knowingly at the two of them.

It's highly unprofessional, but she's never wanted to be better, to get better, than she does now. She wants to be better for him, so she can love him fully, so she can give him her heart and everything else too, every fiber of herself. She keeps her distance. She wonders if it hurts him, if he notices that she feels a little distant, but she thinks the truth will hurt him more, so she does her best to shield him from her problems.

She might love him a little. She's stupidly in love with him, actually, and it was never supposed to be like this. She's well aware she's losing her mind, that he has her wrapped around his finger without even trying, that she's fucking _whipped _for this boy who came into her life and turned it upside down. She prays he won't notice, and he's oblivious enough that she thinks she can hide it well enough.

They run a 5k the next day as practice, and she finds she especially likes running long distance when he does it with her.

"Almost there," Percy promises her. He barely looks tired, and it's kind of infuriating how good he looks when they're fucking _sweaty _and gross. It's unfair, really. _Nobody _should look that good. He should be illegal, for her sake, because she's pretty much addicted.

But Annabeth's feeling okay, if not a little washed out and tired. 5ks have become child's play for her, and she's very proud of herself. He's proud of her too, she thinks, but she's not proud when she goes home and skips her seventh meal in a row, opting for a tiny bowl of kale instead. That much makes her feel guilty too.

They cross over a fallen tree trunk, marking the end of their run. They slow to a walk. The woods are gorgeous, and Annabeth can see early spring is coming. She can't wait. She breathes in the fresh pine as they walk together.

"How are you feeling?" Percy questions, sipping timidly from his water bottle.

"Not bad," she admits. It's torture to look at him. His eyes are mesmerizing, and his face is heavenly. It makes her feel dizzy, loopy really, but maybe that's just the fact that she hasn't eaten anything solid in what feels like ages. She stumbles a little, and he catches her quickly, his reflexes reacting before her can even think about it.

"Let's sit down," he suggests at the minor mishap, and she eagerly agrees. She parks her ass on the trunk, and he sidles next to her. Annabeth greedily sips at the water. Water makes her feel better. It fools her into thinking she's full, even if only for a moment, and there's no calories, no consequences. It's another relief.

"I think you can run the marathon next month," Percy finally breaks the news.

She grins at him, her eyes wide with pride. "Really?"

"You did really well last week," he admits. They had run 20 miles last week, and it fucking sucked, and they didn't train for four days after, but she'd _did _it, she really had. That was the same day she'd been forced to eat _something _afterwards—her stomach had hurt so bad—and then promptly threw it all up. It scares her how easily she can throw things up.

"Thanks," Annabeth permits, flushing under his compliments.

He offers half-smile of his own, but he's tired. She has no doubt. He trains twice a day—once with his team, once with her. Sometimes they skimp on the workouts, every other day is easy-ish, and she feels better when he sits it out, relaxing. He deserves the break. She tries to treat him during their studying sessions.

"What are you going to name your dog?" Percy inquires, his eyes gleaming.

Annabeth's face splits into two at the radiant smile on her face. She can't _wait. _It's been a long, hard journey to this, and it's finally almost time for her to pick out a puppy of her choice. It's all thanks to him. She tells him so.

"Thank you so much," Annabeth gushes. She knows she hasn't run it yet—she will next month, like he's estimating—but she's so damn excited. "I would've never gotten this far without you," she quietly admits.

Percy's expression softens. "You did it all on your own."

Annabeth profusely shakes her head, refusing him. She doesn't know why she feels so strongly about this, but she does. He deserves acknowledgement, deserves hearts and flowers, deserves the world. She really fucking loves him. "I wouldn't have done it without you," she repeats herself. "You're the best." She smiles shyly, her heart beating out of his chest. The melting snow around them glitters under the sunlight, filtering through the tops of the trees.

He bites his lip, hiding a smile. She wishes he wouldn't. "It was no problem. Thanks for helping with school," he expresses his gratitude in turn. Sally's marriage to Paul is in five weeks, and she remembers she promised to attend with him so long ago. Now, the idea makes the tips of her cheeks turn red. "And for agreeing to come to the wedding. You're really saving my ass."

She laughs. It's not even funny, but she's in a good mood, and she's a little delirious with thick emotions. She thinks he's feeling the effects too because he lets loose too, resting against her, his chest rumbling with the familiar laughter. It warms her usually icy heart.

"But seriously," Percy mentions. "Thanks, Wise Girl." His voice is silky smooth.

She prays he can't see her face. She doubts she's doing a half-decent job concealing her explicit adoration. "Ditto, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth sighs, content for now. They watch the first robin of the season fly in the trees above them. It's peaceful.

She feels drawn to him like this. Maybe it's just her imagination, but he seems to feel the magnetic connection too because he leans towards her too. Annabeth knows what's coming, but that doesn't calm the excitement and strange dread in her chest. She knows after this, there's no going back for better or for worse. She doesn't want to hurt him. Hastily, she shuts her eyes, as if not looking is going to halt things.

Two seconds later, he's kissing her. Her face lights up crimson _immediately, _and she fucking prays her tan is dark enough to hide it. When he pulls away, his cheeks pink, she knows it's not enough. She's breathless, and shaky, and she can't _think _straight, or at all, and she's gasping for air because he's a goddamn thief, and he's sucked up her air, and stolen her heart, and her soul, and—

"I've been wanting to do that for _so _long," Percy reports, clearly pleased with himself.

Annabeth groans, embarrassed, her head falling into her hands, her cheeks only flushing darker at his resulting hearty, boyish laugh. It makes her heart do somersaults.

"Seriously," he continues. "Sometimes you'll be explaining math, and I have no idea what you said because I catch myself _daydreaming _about it." Percy laughs, and she does her best to hide, but he pries her hands away from her face.

"I have to go," she groans, glancing at her watch. It's not a lie. She has students to tutor and homework to do, but Annabeth's reluctant to leave him. He's much too sweet. "I'll see you for tutoring tomorrow," she promises.

"Can you at least give me a kiss?"

"Oh," Annabeth says intelligently. Instantly, her fading blush fires up again in full force. Her stormy grey eyes go blank with surprise, and her mouth opens and closes like a fish with half a pea-sized brain cell. He's _teasing _her, the fucking nerve of this boy. He _smirks, _noting as she stumbles on her words like a stupid kid. He probably felt her wildly beating heart when his chest had pressed against hers as he captured all her senses and attention. He's _obnoxious, _and _arrogant, _and _smug, _and she swears to all the fucking Gods up there that she's going to slap that look off his face. He laughs at the burning glare of pure hatred on her face, and she thinks it's musical and makes her tingly inside, which then makes her ponder over if she's been doing drugs lately because she did _not _just think of his laugh as fucking _musical. _She briefly considers manslaughter when he peers at her through thinly-veiled amusement.

She fucking _loathes _him, and she loves him, and he's confusing, and she's confusing, and now all she wants is to press him up against the rough tree bark and kiss him senseless. Annabeth stubbornly crosses her arms over her chest and huffs, feigning irritation.

"I'm glad you're okay," he says then, the wholesome adoration clear in his voice. He smiles at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "When you got dizzy there after running, I seriously thought I'd pushed you too much, that you were about to faint on me." He cringes cutely.

But his words sober her more than he knows. It wipes the smile off her face, shaking her confidence at the sour reminder of her self-destructive streak.

"You looked a little dizzy again just now," he mentions coolly. She can hear the cheek in his voice, and when her head snaps up, he's smug again.

She purses her lips, giving him her best death glare, _daring _him to continue that line of thought.

Percy quickly throws his hands up in surrender, laughing to himself. "Fine!" he concedes.

"Asshole."

He grins. "Tomorrow," he repeats her earlier sentiment, standing up. "Don't be late. I like it when you visit."

His brutal honesty shakes something to the core in her. Annabeth quickly looks away before he can see the expression on her face. "Bye!" she calls over her shoulder, briskly walking away. She captures her lip between her teeth, containing the excitement from escaping her lips. That would be just pure humiliating. Her pride's shattered at his relentless teasing, but her heart feels full for the first time in a long, _long _time.

She can't get enough of him. Annabeth wonders what it's like to kiss him over and over and over again, and she shivers with the realization that the pleasure is hers, and only ever hers. It's possessive, and headache-inducing, but she'll brave the worst it for him.

The whole way home, she can still feel the soft memory of his lips pressed flush against hers. It's intoxicating—_he's _intoxicating. Annabeth flops onto her bed, face-first into her pillow. She's _so _screwed.

…

Annabeth nearly falls over. It's kind of a shock. She hasn't felt this weak in at least a year, and she knows then that it's getting worse than it ever was before.

She can't go back to the hospital, she just can't—

"Annabeth?" Percy's sitting next to her on the couch. His face is screwed up in concern. She hasn't touched the popcorn at all as they watch old reruns of Friends. She tells him she isn't hungry, but Percy runs to get her a cup of water.

He's asking her when she last ate a meal, and she can't even answer because she feels so damn frail. He's cussing like a sailor, and it feels like the end. She's going back to the hospital, she just knows it.

"You're so pale!" he accuses, force-feeding her chocolate chips probably to raise her blood-sugar levels, but it only makes her want to cry. She doesn't want the sugar, she doesn't want it, she can't—

Annabeth gasps, pushing his hand away.

This feels like the end. It really fucking does. Annabeth promptly passes out, overwhelmed and dangerously fatigued, and she can hear Percy freaking out somewhere around her. His voice is fuzzy. She's grateful for the break from her terrible, sick mind when it all goes dark around her.

…

"Annabeth."

It's not a question. She's in a bed, and based off the bizarrely plain walls, she knows it's her own. His hand flies to her forehead, carefully feeling for her temperature. Annabeth struggles to sit up, but he gently pushes her back down. The air smells sweet, and she doesn't get it.

"I have pancakes on the stove," Percy informs her, his eyes black, daring her to argue.

"What?" Her voice is shakier than she remembers. "Seriously, Percy I'm oka—"

"—don't give me that," he interrupts. He shakes his head, staring at the ground morosely. "I should've asked you about it a long time ago, but I just… I didn't want to push you—" he cuts himself off, inhaling sharply.

Someone slides a plate under the door, and Annabeth knows it's her dad. He must've come home early. She hopes Percy hasn't told him shit—but deep down, she knows Frederick Chase knows she's failed him yet again—and Annabeth hopes she's still wrong about Percy knowing. One look at his face, and she knows she's not. He knows. It hurts. She can feel everything, her senses heightened, high on alert.

"You weren't honest with me," Percy points out.

It stings more than she ever expected it would.

"But I want to hear it from you. I think… I think I know, but I don't want to jump to conclusions. Annabeth, why are you training for a marathon?" His voice is non judgemental, his expression sympathetic, but she looks away, unable to fathom the look on his face. Annabeth swallows hard.

"I told you." Her voice is hoarse. "My dad said I can get a puppy if I do this."

"Annabeth," his voice trembles like hers, and she closes her eyes, pained by the pain in _his _tone.

"He wants me to live a healthier lifestyle," she admits, albeit faintly. Percy has to listen dutifully to even barely make out her words. "Because if you work out, and you eat properly, and you have a trainer/training friend watching over you, you're okay."

He doesn't push, falling quiet, silently encouraging her to take her time and tell him as she can.

"I used to run," Annabeth begins. "Since I was really young, I competitively ran. I was good. Fast, faster than anybody else, and then I began to be afraid. I was afraid somebody would catch up with me. Endurance running turned into a struggle into perfectionism. I thought if my body never changed, I'd win. And I did."

Annabeth blinks back tears, and then it all comes up like word vomit, her admissions lying bare for all to see and scrutinize. She feels vulnerable and disgusted and like weeping.

"Until I didn't. Until I'd fracture so many bones, and throw tantrums to avoid food, and I had to quit because I'd train 8 weeks, get injured, heal, train 8 weeks, break a bone or two, heal, train… it was endless."

Percy's listening, she can feel it.

"About two years ago I came out of the hospital for the third time in a row. I was sent to a mental health specialist, a therapist, and I thought I got better, I really did. And now, two years later… I think my dad knows how much I miss competitive running. I would've been at the top of cross country with you if I hadn't fallen so ill. So he challenged me to get back into it. We both thought I was healthy enough. We consulted my doctor. She said to be careful, not to strain myself, but that I should be in the clear to start training again."

Percy swallows hard enough that it's audible. They both know her story goes downhill from there.

"I guess I didn't heal like I'd thought I had."

It's a painful truth to admit out loud. She's only beginning to realize that the moment she believed herself to be 'healed' was simply a mildly amusing commercial break in the trainwreck that is her life. And now it's time to return to her regularly scheduled program.

"And that's why he put me up to this. Because he really thought I could do it, that I could gain back my energy, and do what I love, and be happy again. Because my dad wants a daughter who isn't sick and skinny and near-dead, who doesn't obsessively hoard the only scale in the house like her life depends on it, who isn't cranky all the time because all she's eaten is one broccoli piece pathetically dipped on the surface of a ranch cup all day, who doesn't count calories like she needs them to breathe, who doesn't bruise every time someone _touches_ her, who doesn't have ribs poking out of her stomach, who doesn't match those sheets, tiny in a fucking hospital bed."

Only when Annabeth gasps for air does she realize she's crying.

"Who doesn't have a mental breakdown because half a grape is too much. Because this is a slow suicide, and I fucking know it."

Percy's face is pale, and wounded, and understanding, but hurt by her hurt, and it makes her want to shake him, to ask him why the fuck he cares to carry her luggage too—because she knows he has his own; everyone does.

Annabeth wipes her pathetic tears away, drained.

Percy's very still, but she can't find it within her to care much about anything anymore. She does her best to compose herself, but she's failing miserably.

"So you're… you're ano—But… but why?" Percy tries, but even he can't comprehend his own question, wincing at his wording. He knows it's irrational, he knows she can't control it, he knows she never chose this. Nobody would choose this.

She realizes he can't say it, and she understands all too well why. Even when Annabeth herself admits it out loud, she feels vain, she feels like everyone's judging her for being shallow, but she knows that appearances are not even a quarter of it. It's a mindset, not so much about her body. She sighs to herself.

"Yes, Percy, I'm anorexic." It kills her to say it, but it's the truth. She has been for a while, and though there was a part in her life when she thought she was better, she was never really better, not entirely, and her past had decided to come back and haunt her

"It's not just about being thin or fat," she explains. Her voice cracks a little at the end of the phrase. "It's about hating every single part of your body. Worse than that, it's about hating every little thing about who you are." When she looks up, Percy's eyes are rimmed red.

She doesn't deserve him, this boy who is sympathetic to all, who turns a blind eye to her shame she desperately, yet poorly, conceals, who just wants to see people succeed, to see them be happy, to see them grow up to outperform him in every aspect of life. He's wholesome and stable and strong, and she's crushing him under her boot with this reality he never asked her.

Their agreement was that he'd train her, not that he'd be her personal fucking therapist because he's got problems of his own, and he doesn't need this shit.

Annabeth hiccups through sporadic crying. She knows she needs to learn to love herself before she can love anyone else, but all she can think about is how much she loves her dad, and her stupid brothers, and Piper, and Thalia, and even Alice, and finally Percy. Fucking Percy Jackson who believed in her from the start, who believed when nobody else would—when _she_ wouldn't.

She wants him to have the whole world. He deserves it. She knows she can't give it to him.

She can't give him the whole world when her world is going to war with her plate every day.

Percy stares at her, conflicted by her tears.

"If you want to go, I get it," Annabeth dismisses him, ignoring the stab of pain lancing through her heart. She'll miss him, but this is for the best.

Percy moves, and her soul shatters into a million pieces. She wasn't sure if he'd actually go. Now she has her answer. This is how it ends. She should've seen it coming a mile away.

But he doesn't walk out the door. He doesn't even stand up. He does quite possibly the most Percy Jackson thing in the world: he reaches forward, and he crushes her in a hug.

Annabeth sags with relief because she doesn't want to lose him, she really fucking doesn't. She's lost enough to this illness, and she's always hated calling it that—an illness—but she knows it's truer than most things at this point. She slumps against him, feeling light as a feather in his strong fortress, but she feels protected and understood and heard, and it's enough for now.

"I had no idea," his voice trembles. It's muffled, his mouth covered by her shoulder and neck and shirt, where he's buried himself and made himself comfortable. "I _knew_ something was wrong. I fucking knew it the first day in the training room."

So he _had_ seen her bruises. Annabeth winces at the reminder.

"I figured you lived in a less-than-ideal family situation. Maybe someone was being abusive." He stiffens, his voice tight. His arms wrap around her tighter, and it hurts a little, but she doesn't want him to let go, so she lets him talk. "I wanted so badly to ask you, but I saw the shifty way you moved, and I… I couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't torture you like that."

He hesitates, and Annabeth doesn't know how she knows, but all of a sudden she's very much aware that Percy's seen a lot more abuse than he lets on. Perhaps even firsthand. It makes her blood boil. She wants to ask, but like him, she knows it's not her place. He'll tell her if or when he wants to.

She can wait. She'll wait for him forever if she has to.

"But then I noticed how skinny your neck and wrists were, and how thin your skin was, and you were _really _light after practice a couple weeks ago when I tried to bandage your arm, and I had a guess, but… but you're a pretty good liar. I wish I'd known," he admits. He draws away, his eyes boring into her, and Annabeth shifts in her seating position, feeling weak under his intense gaze. "I wish I could make it better, take it away. And I'm… I'm sorry. I'm sorry if this marathon was too much. I never imagined it would hit you like this." His face flashes with guilt, and then Annabeth's angry, angrier than she's been in a long time.

"Don't you dare apologize for my mistakes, my… disorder." The word feels heavy on her tongue. "I've been like this since I was nine, and you have done nothing wrong to me. Ever," she emphasizes.

Percy swallows, drumming his fingers across the chair he's pulled up to her bedside thoughtfully. He mouths _nine_ to himself, carefully considering the notion that Annabeth's self-hatred really began before she had entered double digit. He lingers in that empty, somber silence. They're quiet together.

"For what it's worth, thank you for telling me," he whispers.

She doesn't say anything, staring at her white ceiling.

"I'm sorry for letting you down," she admits.

Percy's head snaps up immediately. "Are you kidding me?"

Annabeth winces.

Percy's voice is rough, but when her fingers cup her chin, forcing her to look at him, he's still warm and gentle. It's always made her suspect he's darker than he lets on, but he's doing his best to be kind to everyone around him, to let go of his obviously traumatic past. It usually makes her feel special, but right now she just feels kinda small, deflated and tired.

"Look at me," he coaxes, and she reluctantly meets his eyes. "I could never be disappointed in you, do you understand?" he demands.

She's shaking. He can probably feel it.

"Never," he repeats. "I'm disappointed with the turn of events, _not _with you," Percy reiterates, his thumb brushing across her cheek.

She shrugs to herself. Annabeth feels the overwhelming, familiar urge to shut the world out again, curl up in a ball, and go to sleep where nobody and nothing can hurt her. His big sea-green eyes make her feel guilty, but she'll never tell him so.

"Annabeth."

"Okay, Percy," she acquiesces, acknowledging him.

"No, Annabeth. You're not _listening _to me."

"I am." She feels frustrated.

"No," he chokes.

He's crying. It fucking hurts more than she thought it would. "Can you—I can't—" he stops trying to form a sentence in the end, giving in to his wave of emotions.

She doesn't care what he says; there's no defense against this. This is another form of pity, and she always thought he'd be her one saving grace, the only one to never burden her with fucking _pity. _She doesn't need it. Annabeth reels, hardening. Her eyes go cold.

"It's not pity," Percy says before she can protest.

Annabeth falls quiet. He'll never stop reading her mind, will he?

"I don't feel bad for you, not like that. I feel bad that I can't fix it. Do you understand?"

This time, she nods. She gets that. She tries to control everything around her, but it never works. Percy sniffles. They're quiet for some time and then—

"Do you feel guilty, Annabeth?"

She freezes because what kind of question is that? Everyone feels guilty at some point in their life, right? But she doesn't have to look at his face to know that's not what he's really asking.

He waits patiently, and when she doesn't answer, stunned, he continues. "Do you feel guilty that you're sick and no one else in your family is? Is that why you didn't tell me?" He's not interrogating her exactly, but he's just trying to understand. "Is that why you haven't sought help? Is this why nobody knows?"

Of course nobody knows. She didn't tell him that, though. Somehow, he just knows.

"I don't need help," Annabeth breathes. Her voice quavers, betraying every word she says. "Other people have it much worse than me." It comes out before she can stop it, and Percy looks at her then, and without missing a beat:

"Other people's pain doesn't negate yours."

Annabeth tenses. He's never hit closer to home than he is now.

He understands her silence all too well, and it scares her. "Do you really think that? Do you think you're not anorexic enough to get treatment?" His eyes are sad.

She feels responsible, really, for making him look that way. She swallows hard. Annabeth knows she's not so skinny she'll go back to the hospital. She knows her friends just know she struggles a little bit, but they think she's healed. And she also knows that healing is a process, and this shit doesn't just disappear in two years. It's with you for life.

Annabeth knows it's irrational, but she also knows her BMI is only slightly underweight—she's calculated it herself too many times to count—and she's been in those treatment center with boys so skinny all their bones have shattered and girls the size of twigs that look like the wind could blow them to dust, and then she's also seen the girls who are healthy weight, who just _believe _they're overweight, and she's seen the fucking _suffering _on their faces, the madness, and she knows anorexia nervosa is a mental illness, not a fucking physical illness—it just affects the package she's come in, that's all—and she knows that they admit you into treatment centers because your mind is concaving all the fucking time, and it's exhausting and terrifying, and not becaue you're a certain weight, not necessarily because you're skinny enough to be on the verge of death, but Annabeth all of a sudden feels like she's breathed her first fresh air in a long ass time because Percy's right—she really does, deep down, think she's not skinny enough to deserve treatment.

"Annabeth." He snaps her back into reality. "You don't have to be a certain level of skinny to know you need help. You don't need your body to crash down on you before you can _feel _like you're sick. You're sick already. You have been for some time."

But if he's right, where does she go from here? Does she go to a center? She's taking so many AP classes, she's trying to get into college—she doesn't fucking have time for this. Her brothers need her, her, and she's never truly felt needed before, but she knows with certainty they need her now. Her dad needs her.

Annabeth looks up at him, and there are tears welling in her eyes—fat, hot tears that are unmistakable, tears that only people who are _breaking _ever get. For the first time in seventeen years, she feels _seen_, her pain feels validated. Hardships are not comparable. Her struggles are real, legitimate, and just as difficult as anyone else's.

It takes her a moment, but— "Do you want to stay the evening?" she offers. It takes a lot from her to ask, fearful of rejection and also fearful of his acceptance. He's never stayed the night before. It's not like _that. _He would never hurt her, not like that, not like any way on purpose, but they've just never quite reached that step. Boundaries are kind of useless at this point, though, now that he's seen her weep like adults only do, in that way that lets you know you've grown up way too much, and your years feel much longer than they should, and you feel much older than you really are.

"I don't want to hurt you." Percy is transparent and honest.

"You won't."

"You look like you'll shatter if I even _touch _you, Annabeth."

"Percy."

"Annabeth."

He's serious, his mouth in a straight line to rival a ruler.

"Please." It takes everything from her to give up her pride, but she _needs _him right now. She needs him to chase the worries away, the aches, the nightmares. She needs him to promise she's not a family disappointment even though she knows she is. She needs somebody to keep her glued to bed, so she can fight the strong temptation to throw up the pancakes she forcefully ingested. She needs someone to hold her accountable, someone to calm her when it all becomes all too much.

He hesitates. "Okay." Percy warily climbs into her bed, careful not to bump into her. He doesn't even touch her. That's okay with her, as long as he doesn't go. She doesn't think she'll make it out _alive_ if she's alone right now.

"What time is it?"

He glances at her alarm clock. They have their backs together, facing apart. She's staring at one wall, and him at another.

"10:23."

"That's early," Annabeth comments.

"Mhmm," Percy agrees.

"Are you sure you don't need to go home?"

The screen of his phone illuminates the ceiling in response. "No. I'll just text my mom. It's fine."

Annabeth still feels guilty. She supposes it's something that'll carry her well into her adult life. She doesn't bother brushing away the sweet taste of food in her mouth, afraid to even approach the bathroom in any shape or form.

"Percy?"

"Yeah?" He sounds equally lost, and she finds solace in that she's not alone anymore, in that somebody's lost with her, so at least they're not as lost when they're together.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

They're like that for some time. She doesn't know how many hours pass before she falls asleep. Percy conks out before she does. He's a restless sleeper, tossing and turning in his sleep. If she has to guess, she ventures that he gets pretty bad nightmares. He's a cuddler too, which she hadn't expected. He holds her tight to his chest in his sleep, and she finds comfort in his warmth, finally drifting off hours after he does. It's just as restless as him that night, and she remembers thinking right before she passes out that they make quite a pair, troubled together. Annabeth mildly contemplates what her mother, Athena, would have made of it.

She remembers the feeling of wind in her hair before her life turned to shit. She remembers Athena in the bleachers. It was rare, but exciting when she was.

Then she remembers the numbing pain of breaking fibulas and tibias, one after another after another.

The grey eyes that resemble hers so much that it hurts haunt her dreams the entire night.

…

The following morning is… rough.

She's never felt this exhausted in at least a year. Percy's already up by the time she is. He looks like he hasn't slept a wink, and it makes her feel guilty again, a feeling she was hoping to avoid ever since he pointed out the deep flaw in her very being, the shit she's been struggling with since she was four and could think, perhaps for the first time, for herself.

He asks her if she wants breakfast. She asks if her dad is home. It's a common tactic of deflection, and they both know it, but Percy does her a solid favor and pretends he doesn't.

Frederick isn't home. He still has work. She gets it, she really does, but she kind of wants to cry again because there's nothing more she's wanted than her dad than she does right now. Her brothers are at a friend's house, and Alice has left for yoga a while back. She's grateful for Percy.

He asks her if she wants food again. He says he's making himself an omelette, and he can make her something if she wants. She's pleasantly surprised that he can cook—she's kind of rotten at it, actually, but maybe that's just because the thought of food makes her stomach twist the wrong way. She looks at him helplessly. She can't heal in one day—he said so himself—and she's not sure if she can eat breakfast when she hasn't in _years._

Percy's gaze softens. "Okay, Annabeth. Tell me if you need anything."

She goes back to sleep because she doesn't want to go to school today—she just can't. It's Friday, besides. Annabeth tries to convince Percy to abandon her and go learn, but he says he hates school anyway, and, besides, he's not fucking leaving her to defend for herself after almost collapsing last night. She tells him he needs school, he has a quiz today in math that she _saw _him study so hard for, and he just tells her he can study some more tonight. It makes her feel guilty again, but Percy's there in a blink, tilting her head up with his forefinger and thumb, telling her that he _wants _to do this for her.

"But why?" Annabeth croaks out, blinking at him through puffy eyes, full of unshed tears.

He looks at her seriously. "I want to." And then he turns back to making sure his eggs don't burn as she perches on _her_ barstool—the one on the very left—watching his easy grace with curiosity. Percy's not her boyfriend, she fucking knows it, but she still feels warm all over when she ignores the piling dread that he'd choose to stay at her house with her and take care of her. He's intriguing to watch. He fills his omelette with random veggies he cooked together from her fridge. There's extra veggies on the side skillet.

He's left some for her.

Her heart's thumping wildly.

He's not forcing her, but… but he's leaving it _in case _she wants some. A lump forms in her throat.

Percy notices where her eyes are going. "Have however much you want," he offers, and he sits beside her, picking at his omelette with a fork. She likes that. She likes him. He's not treating her differently. He's not like Piper, bless that girl, but honestly no, who felt awkward eating next to Annabeth for a long time, or Thalia, just no, no, who thought reminding Annabeth to eat or eat more would honestly help. It all comes from a good place, but that doesn't mean healthy people aren't so fucking frustrating. They just don't fucking get it. Percy gets it. He gets her.

Annabeth reluctantly slides the skillet off the stove towards her. She likes mushrooms and spinach. Her stomach knots anyways. She swallows. She can fucking do this. She tries not to taste it, honestly, because this is just a fucking chore to her, but she can do this. And not for Percy. Not even for her dad. For herself.

Because Annabeth doesn't want this anymore.

When she looks at Percy, when he smiles in that involuntary way when he thinks nobody's looking, when he tells stupid jokes, when he takes her to fucking _IHOP_ because she's never been there before, she knows what she wants. When she's acing AP Bio, and Dakota's claiming that his dad should adopt her, and she's tutoring Algebra 1 for her 8th grade students, and they just understand everything, and they look at her like she's fixed the entire world, she knows what she wants. When her dad's going on and on about model airplanes, and when her brothers are throwing pillows at her too because to them, she's really their sister in full blood—they don't fucking care—she knows what she wants.

She wants _that. _Annabeth wants family, friends, happiness, and goddamn puppy. She wants Percy in her life, and she'll take him however she can have him, and she wants to go to Percy's mom's wedding and eat food and feel normal, and she wants to go to college, and she wants to be an architect, and she wants to be somebody special. She wants to acknowledge that her illness is part of her, and that she's trying, and she's never going to totally be over it, but she kind of will too, and there's more to life than stressing over her next meal every second of every goddamn day.

Annabeth eats one mushroom. It's just one. But she doesn't throw it up, and Percy doesn't congratulate her for eating it because he's not stupid, and he doesn't act like he understand her issues, and she's so thankful for him, for him understanding that nobody needs to fucking validate her efforts, for him knowing that people pointing out she's trying just makes her want to shy away from the scene.

It's not perfect, but neither is she, and she's not going to pretend it's not going to be hard from here, but these things take time, and if she's willing to wait for six months to get a puppy, and get up at five in the morning every weekday to work out, then she's willing to wait out her mental health. It'll come. She knows it will.

It's the first time she's felt certain in anything in a long time, and it feels good. Annabeth puts the fork down; she doesn't want more. She talks to Percy as he finishes eating. He's a good cook. He beams at her praise, and it's like _he's _fixed the whole world just like that. Just one smile.

She's such a sap.

They watch Big Bang Theory the rest of the morning. Percy tells her he wants to play harp, just so he can sob and play Journey songs like Amy. He tells her she's like Sheldon. She says she's not as demanding. He pretends he doesn't hear her, and she throws a pillow at his face, which only makes him laugh.

They take a nap later. She's exhausted, and he gets it. He promises he'll be there when she wakes up. She holds his hand the entire time she sleeps, and she revels in his presence, in his promises. He's worth everything, and she'd give the whole world for him.

…

Annabeth stares up at the grey building, anxiety gnawing at her chest.

She has two weeks off school, signed by the principal himself. Chiron, her history teacher, wished her luck and health and happiness. She misses him already. She collected all the work from her teachers, including the tests, to self-administer and finish. She can't just _not _do work. The facility said it was fine.

The suitcase behind her bulky and awkward. She wishes Percy was with her, but he promises he'd come visit. He wanted so badly to come see her off, but she forced him to go to school. She makes him promise to email her or come visit whenever he needs help with school. She's sorry she can't tutor her kids, including him, while she's here.

It's constricting, it's suffocating, but it's better. Annabeth takes a deep breath. Her dad's checking her in at the white front desk past the glass doors. Alice is home with the boys, who already hugged her and kissed her cheeks enough times that it sort of made it want to cry.

_It's only two weeks. _Annabeth takes a deep breath. She notices the glass doors automatically lock until the employees buzz you in or out. It's slightly concerning until she remembers she's not the only fucking kid here; there are probably kids here so fucking lost that they want to run out onto the streets and get themselves killed.

It's a sobering thought. She kind of feels useless. She wants to be there for her brothers, and her dad, and everyone who needs her, but she knows she needs to do this. They'll be okay for two weeks, right? It feels like a long time all of sudden.

Someone, a girl with reddish, silky hair, walks next to her. She's gorgeous in a way that makes Annabeth understand why Thalia's swearing off boys and absolutely ethereal. There's something very natural about her, like she's come from the joy and pain of the Earth itself.

"I'm Juniper," she says. "Oh, well. I guess that's obvious." She laughs a little, looking down at her nametag.

Annabeth likes her voice, immediately. She scales the stairs, and Frederick takes her luggage from her, not wanting to strain his daughter. Annabeth's a bit tired anyways, so she lets him.

"I'm Annabeth," she introduces herself, a small, but fatigued, smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I'm guessing you work here?"

"Just an intern," Juniper assures her. "So some people like me more." She winks, and Annabeth doesn't really understand, but she really wants to, so she kind of smiles politely in return. She hopes it's not as awkward as it feels. "This is you."

Juniper opens a white door. It matches all the others, and Annabeth lets her dad step in first to put down the suitcase. _Two weeks, _she reminds herself. And then she walks in.

It's small-ish, a little smaller than her bedroom back home, but it will do. The walls are blank like no one lives here. That's because no one does. _You do now, _Annabeth reminds herself. It makes her chest pang unexpectedly. Annabeth tosses her backpack carelessly onto the carefully tucked-in sheets.

"Feel free to make it feel like home," Juniper offers. "You see this intercom?" She points to a blue button by the door. "Buzz it, and I'll come running," Juniper kindly promises. Annabeth's grateful; this is harder than she could've ever anticipated. "I'll come run your schedule by you later. It's pretty relaxed here," she says and glances to Frederick too, but Annabeth's strangely honored to see someone talk to _her _about her disorder and not just her dad, not like she's not even in the room. "But we _do _plan some fun activities to keep you guys entertained. Otherwise, you can kind of do whatever you want. Relax. Make friends." Juniper gestures to all the doors around them. "It's a teen-only facility, so they're all kids around your age. There aren't many of them here, but the few are very nice. I think you'll get along well."

Annabeth nods obediently.

"I'll give you some time to say goodbye." Juniper closes the door behind her as she leaves. Annabeth's throat suddenly feels tight. She's been dreading this moment for quite some time.

She sits on the bed. It's comfortable. And then she looks up at her dad, this man who's been there her whole life, who stayed when Athena didn't, who's watched her cry and laugh and everything in between, who just wants nothing more than for her to get better, something she so desperately needs now.

"I guess this is where I leave you." Frederick's glassy-eyed, and she's always known her dad is a bit soft, despite his facade, but this is kind of the last straw. She's already seen him cry over their mother when she was younger. She really can't do this.

"I'll be back in two weeks," Annabeth promises. "I swear it."

Frederick offers a sad smile. It makes Annabeth want to cry like she's little all over again and cling to him like a koala with a vice grip. "You take your time, Beth. Feel better first," he squats in front of her bed where she's sitting, his eyes level with hers. He hasn't called her that since she was at least four. She fucking loses it. A few stray tears pool over the rim of her eyes. Frederick crushes her in a hug, and usually they make her feel small and weak and thin, but she feels strong and loved when her dad kisses the top of her head.

"I'll come visit you every day." His voice cracks.

Annabeth reluctantly shakes her head no. "Take care of Bobby and Matthew. I'll be okay," she whispers.

Frederick squeezes her tighter. "I won't be."

It's vulnerable, out of character for both of them, but it's reassuring. When he pulls away, Annabeth hastily wipes away a few tears. His eyes are red and a little bloodshot too. She takes solace in that.

"I'll miss you," he bids her.

Annabeth can only imagine how gruesome it's going to be when she goes off to college. "Ditto."

Frederick helps her put her own pillowcase over the pillow on her bed—she likes the pale blue one he bought her when she was eight way more than these standard treatment center sheets—and he helps her set up a few picture frames on the dark desk.

One is of Piper and Thalia and her in freshman year of high school at a carnival. Thalia's tearing apart an Elephant Ear, and Piper's giddily holding cheap paper tickets to her chest. Annabeth's on the very right. She's holding an untouched lollipop. The picture makes her heart hurt. In the other frame is a much more dated photograph. It's the same picture her dad has on his office desk at the university. She's four, and she's sitting in his lap on the rolling chair, and they're sitting in his study, and she's teaching him how to read a newspaper. There's a black and white photograph of the Hagia Sophia on the front. Annabeth's little, chubby face is twisted up in a grin, and Frederick looks curious in that way that adults always do with small children, like he's asking Teacher Annabeth to explain something, only he only ever talked to her like an adult. She has pen marks streaking her arms, and she's in white overalls and a blue shirt. Her dad's glasses are confiscated in her little hands, and his hair is disheveled like Annabeth's messed it up. It's one of her favorite pictures of all time. Frederick pauses when putting it up, and she knows he feels it too.

"I'll see you tomorrow, kiddo," Frederick vows.

Annabeth leans against the doorframe, watching his back disappear out the room. She runs to the small window in the corner of her room, waiting. Sure enough, her dad walks out in about two minutes. She waits.

Frederick pauses, turning around on the ground. He peers up, spotting her in her window. Her heart swells. He hesitantly waves her, and it's awkward, and it runs in the fucking family because she's just as awkward and weird and genius, and she snorts to herself, waving a little. He smiles from the sidewalk, and walks away.

This is no different than any of her school competitions, she tries to convince herself. She's gone away for a week at a time for those. This is just one week more. And it's to compete for her life this time, something she really deserves to have.

Annabeth watches her dad drive away in his silver car, and it feels like all the air's been knocked out of her. She surveys her room before spotting the photographs again.

She puts the one from the carnival face down.

…

Annabeth stares at the boy standing outside of her door. She feels sort of shitty about it, but she hadn't been expecting the other teens to seem so… normal. It's not like they're _freaks_—she's not _that _terrible—but she didn't expect them to live mostly normal lives, and have normal faces, and speak like a normal human being, and dress normally, and be any other high school kid.

"We're playing Uno," the boy says. "Calypso told me to come get you. She said maybe you'll want to hang out with us or something." He rolls his eyes. He has dark hair that falls into his eyes, and Annabeth has a feeling he would get along nicely with Thalia; he's wearing all black, but no shoes, only black socks. She supposes it's not completely weird; their hallway _is _carpeted. Maybe she's the weird one for wearing shoes still. Annabeth feels a bit reclusive, and, all of a sudden, she wants nothing more than to _not _socialize with them.

"Calypso?" Annabeth immediately bites her tongue afterwards.

"Yeah," he sighs a little. "I'm Nico."

He's a little pale, and she's not sure if it's because he's a sick kid, like her, or if his complexion simply that way. She suspects it's more likely the former rather than the latter. He has warm brown eyes, though, and even though Annabeth knows that's really not solid evidence to build trust on, something about him puts her at ease, even though it really shouldn't. There's a fucking skull on his shirt, for God's sake. Maybe he's just similar enough to Thalia that it's comforting, she internally rationalizes.

"Look, are you coming or not? I bet Ethan's going through my cards. Fucking bastard."

At that, she cracks a smile. "Yeah, hold on." She grabs her phone off her desk and puts it in her pocket; she still can't believe the interns let her keep it. On her schedule that Juniper brought her, she has scheduled doctor's visits, therapist sessions, arts and crafts, exercises, all these planned moments, and she doesn't really know… it's not like how it is in the movies. It's strangely calming. And it's not a prison. She can still call her friends whenever she wants, not that she is. No, she's been letting it ring for the past hour and a half.

Nico takes her down the hall, and he swings open two large French-style doors. Annabeth peeks in to see colorful beanbags and a TV. There's a pool table too. It's like a recreation room, she realizes.

Nico points a skinny white finger to a girl with golden, long locks. She's leaning against the back of a chair, sitting on the ground in a circle with a couple other kids. She doesn't seem much older than Annabeth, but something tells Annabeth that her life's been much longer than it seems. There are a few stray freckles dotting the bridge of her nose, and her eyes are almond-shaped with thick eyelashes, and caramel-colored eyes. There's a faint scent of cinnamon coming from her.

"That's Calypso," Nico introduces. She waves a polite hand and offers the prettiest smile, her pearly white teeth peeking out of her rosy lips. Annabeth honestly can't tell what's 'wrong' with her from looking at her. It's refreshing, this new perspective. "She's got PTSD and depression from her abusive father." Annabeth's mouth falls open. That's not only terrible, but how can Nico just _say _that? That's fucked up. She doesn't seem fazed, though.

"Leo," says Nico, gesturing to the boy peeking over her shoulder at her cards. He looks up at her entrance. He has curly brown hair that trails around his pointed ears and makes him appear a little like an elf. He has an olive complexion, and Annabeth guesses he might have Hispanic roots. "PTSD from being in a fire, and his parents died."

Annabeth chokes, and Nico shoots her a weird look. "That's Ethan." He points to a boy with raven hair and cold brown eyes. He might be half-Japanese, Annabeth guesses. "He's a burner. Him and Leo get along _great."_

Leo laughs at Nico's dry sense of humor, and Ethan rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tugs upwards in a reluctant smile.

Oh. That's uncomfortable. She doesn't understand how they can just coolly state what's wrong with them to a complete stranger. She feels a little lost here, out of place.

"Speaking of," Nico pipes up. "I saw the candle on your desk." Annabeth slumps at the reminder. Piper had lent her her favorite vanilla candle, a gesture that had made Annabeth want to cry, but Juniper had to take it away, saying something about burners. Now Annabeth gets it.

Ethan winces. "Sorry they took it, kid. I wouldn't have used it anyways. I don't fucking use other people's shit." He rolls his eyes again. Well—eye. He had an eyepatch on the other. Annabeth really doesn't want to know what's up with that. She squints at him, though. He can't be much older than her. Why the fuck is he calling her a _kid?_

Calypso snorts. "You stole a match from my purse the first day I arrived."

Leo cackles at that. By now, Annabeth's deduced that he's in a relationship with Calypso, or at least they flirt a lot. He's already sidled up against her. Annabeth really doesn't want to be in a relationship with these kids. Alice would probably have a meltdown. Besides, she likes Percy. _Percy. _Just his name sends a wave of pain through her chest.

"That's Travis." Nico points to a boy with wavy brown hair. He's skinny, and his face is gaunt. "His brother Connor died in a car accident when they were like seven."

"Rest in peace," all of them chant in unison, as if they've practiced this before. Annabeth blinks, a little creeped out.

"Now he's kinda a burner, and… what else you got, Trav?" Nico frowns a little.

"Cutter, and you forgot that my dad had cancer," Travis confirms. Annabeth winces.

"Right." Nico brightens. Both boys share a smile. "My bad." He finally points to himself. "And like I said, I'm Nico. One sister's dead because she hated me, and another goes to high school like a normal kid. Depression and self-harm." He nods a little, taking a seat. "Did you touch my cards?"

"No." Ethan shifts uncomfortably on the ground.

Nico rolls his eyes. "I can literally see two of my draw four cards in your hand right now. You're a bitch ass liar. If you're going to lie, you might as well do it right."

"Fuck off," Ethan sniffs.

"You're always bleeding," Leo complains, turning on Ethan.

"I fucking _wish_," Travis pipes in, and Nico grins, but it's dark. Annabeth's pretty much horrified at this point.

"Look, you all seem like lovely people," Annabeth begins, interrupting and holding her hands up in surrender.

"Good going guys," Calypso berates. "You already scared her, and it's been like three minutes. Assholes."

"Do you all usually define yourself by your—er—illnesses, for lack of a better term?" Annabeth voices, crossing her arms over her chest. She still hasn't sat down yet. And yes, everyone here wears socks. God, she doesn't even fit in with the weird kids. Somebody help her.

"Oh, you're one of _those_," Nico coolly remarks. Travis smirks a little. "You're the type who's been healthy all your life, and you feel uncomfortable by your sickness. You're the faux healthy type." He shakes his head to himself.

"Man, fuck that," Travis agrees.

Calypso shoots them both a glare. She shrugs one shoulder at Annabeth. "It's not like we're _defined _by them, per se. It's just easier. I think the misunderstanding is that healthy people assume we want a different life, entirely. And don't get me wrong, all of our lives would be so much easier, so much less fucked up, if they had taken different routes, if we'd been granted different fates, but at the end of the day, this is just who we are." She points a pale arm to Leo. "He's been here for three years. Nico for five, the longest who left."

"What can I say? I'm not really a cooperative guy," Nico mutters. "The doctors can fuck themselves with chainsaws for all I fucking care."

Travis laughs.

Calypso continues, ignoring them. "I've been here for about one full year now, a little more. Travis is the newb, only six months under his belt. Ethan was admitted only three days before me. And now there's you."

Annabeth's heart pounds in her chest. Months? _Years? _She was planning on _two weeks. _She can't fucking do that. She has a life, she has friends, or so she hopes, she wants a life more than this.

Calypso must see the panic rising in her face because she offers a sympathetic smile. "My point is, we're all family here. And to an outsider, we might seem kinda crazy." Annabeth internally confirms this statement. "But it's good for us. They leave us the fuck alone. We can do as we please. We heal and leave, or we die here. It's not the best life, but it's okay. And that's all anyone can ask for at this point. Our sicknesses are part of who we are, and it's about time you accept that, sweetpea. It's made us stronger, and we've found some semblance of happiness here."

Annabeth nods a little. Calypso, at least, doesn't seem so bad. Perhaps it's that charitable thought that convinces her to sit down next down to the blonde.

"Amen, babe."

"You're not even Christian, Travis," Nico snips.

"Jesus is in us all, man. Who are you to deny me my love of the Almighty?"

Nico shoots him a withering gaze, and even Annabeth has to smile.

"Deal me in," she says. It feels bold, especially for her, but this is supposed to be the start of something new, right? Calypso pops the bubble of gum in her mouth, and presses seven cards into the palm of her hand.

"If you put that plus four down, I swear to fucking god, Nakamura."

Ethan grins at Leo's threat, but he doesn't put it down. Annabeth guesses he's saving it to exact revenge on somebody later. It's a technique she's all too familiar with.

"So what's your deal, dude?" Travis asks her.

Annabeth pauses. Nobody's called her dude since like fifth grade. That's okay, though. She thinks that's just how Travis is. "I'm Annabeth."

"Pretty." Calypso puts down a red nine. Annabeth matches it with a blue nine, and Nico curses at the color change, shuffling around his two cards before reaching for the deck to draw.

"Thanks," she mumbles.

"But what's your _deal_?" Travis asks again.

Oh, right. One with the disease and all that shit. She tries not to overthink it. "I'm anorexic." It feels weird to admit out loud.

"Fun," Leo comments. "We had another anorexic like three months ago. She'd been here… fuck how long, Neeks?"

"Four years, three weeks, six days, 25 minutes, and 33 seconds," Nico rattles off.

Annabeth's sort of impressed.

"He's like a stalker," Calypso teases. "He knows everything about everybody."

Nico rolls his eyes. "I just remember when Zoe came here. I had only been here about a year anyways, so it was the first person to come after me. Pretty memorable."

"How long has Annabeth been here?" Calypso interrogates.

Nico sighs. This must be a daily thing, Annabeth deduces. And she's genuinely curious. She doesn't even know how long it's been; it feels like ages, though. "Two hours, 21 minutes, and," he glances at his watch,"21 seconds."

Travis giggles. "Twenty-one," he mocks.

"Piss off," Nico mutters. "That's meme's as dead as you, Travis."

Leo throws his cards, frustrated. "Stop stealing my cards, Travis!" He smacks the other boy.

Annabeth coughs indelicately. "Uno."

Slowly, all eyes turn to her. "You can't have an Uno," Nico announces.

She thinks she's heard him wrong. "What? Of course I do. I have one card, see?" She holds it up, hiding it from their view. It's a yellow four. She wants them to change the color from green already.

"No." Nico hands her four more cards. "Play," he demands.

Frustration bubbles in her chest. "But—I don't understand."

Ethan sighs a little. "If you win, then we end the game. And then we're forced to do arts and crafts. And Leo throws clay, and gets in trouble, and runs from the kiln. I'm forced to sit five feet away from the kiln because I'm a 'safety hazard.'" He makes air quotes with his hands. "And Calypso will paint something beautiful and then tear it up for kicks." Calypso grins at this. "And Nico will cover his entire sheet in black like he does every day because he thinks he's an edge lord."

"I swear to _fucking_ god—" Nico interrupts, but Ethan plows past him.

"—and we'll all suffer because the art teacher is a fucking bitch, and she wants us to paint our _feelings_, and the only feeling I have in that room is the ungodly urge to shove _her _in the kiln and watch her go up in flames."

Leo whoops in agreement.

Annabeth's scalp prickles with fear. Her grey eyes go wide, caught off guard.

"So play, damnit," Ethan's gruffly commands.

"Fair enough," Annabeth breathes, her heart racing. She puts down a card instead of drawing even if it doesn't match, but nobody says anything. It's not like they really care anyways. She's pretty sure Travis played a flaming hot cheeto earlier. The cheese stained her card. "This is nothing like I thought it'd be like," she admits after some time.

Calypso plays three cards. "What were you thinking?"

"Have you ever seen Shutter Island with Leonardo DiCaprio?" She cringes.

Calypso laughs then. It's a warm, hearty laugh that makes Annabeth feel a little bit better. "Oh, sweetie. They don't lock us in little white rooms and drag us through hallways, our nails scraping against the walls like it's an asylum," Calypso assures her, grinning from ear to ear.

Annabeth knows it was irrational, but the pressure in her chest eases nonetheless. "Hallelujah," she mutters dryly. "Usually, I try to end all my engagements with nail-scraping and claustrophobic, Oscar-worthy performances. Perks of being a basic blonde bitch." This time _Nico _softly smiles to himself. He doesn't really seem like the type to smile at all, so she'll take it as a victory.

Annabeth plays half a Dorito, and Travis nods in approval. She thinks she might be okay here, after all.

…

Her dad visits in the mornings. It's harder. She doesn't really know what she was expecting—of course it's going to be hard. He brings her half a PBJ, and she eats it all when he's there, but it only makes her queasy now.

But Percy… Percy said he would come right after school today. She's ecstatic. She's been here three days, and she already misses him _so _much it _physically _hurts. The intercom buzzes, and her heart leaps into her mouth.

"You have a visitor, Annabeth. Says his name is Percy? Can I let him up?" Juniper's sweet voice comes through the intercom.

"Yes, please." She tries not to sound like she's eager, but she kind of is. She discovered late last night that they've sealed the windows shut, and even after her joke, she _does _feel weirdly claustrophobic, even if this place is cooler and bigger than her house. _But it's not home_, she morosely reminds herself.

There's a knock at her door, and Annabeth leaps up from her desk. She pats down her hair and then curses herself for it. It's just _Percy. _He's seen her cry like a snot-baby and the fact that he's still even here is a grand feat in itself. He doesn't fucking care how she looks. Her unconvincing pep talk doesn't really change things though. She even washed her hair this morning and changed into a cuter red sweater in preparation for his arrival in the _afternoon. _God, she was so pitiful. Annabeth bites her lower lip, taking in a shaky breath, and swings the door open.

He looks good—fuck that, though, because he _always _looks good. It should be illegal to be that good all the time. His hair is a little messy, but it always is, and he's still dressed in school clothes, which means he's how he should be—warm and comfy and squishy in a track hoodie. She restrains from tackling him.

"Welcome to my humble abode," she jokes nervously. Percy smiles at her, but it's worried, she can tell. He must've been stressed about how this change was going. It's okay, it really is. She hopes she doesn't look like she's suffering or something.

"Honestly, it's bigger than my room," Percy comments. He peers at her surroundings, noting the facedown photograph, but he says nothing about it. Annabeth sits on the edge of her bed.

"It's not so bad," she agrees. "I was fully prepared for torture."

"Electroshock therapy?" Percy jokes awkwardly. God, she fucking _misses _him, _all _of him—his weird, somewhat concerning, sense of humor, his soft hair that she likes to run her hands through, his eyes, his face, his voice, his awkward neck scratching that he does when he's fucking nervous as hell, that half-dimple on his left cheek that drives her _crazy_—and Annabeth feels a little dizzy at seeing him, at hearing him.

"Why not?" she dryly remarks. He cracks an easy smile. "The kids aren't so bad here," Annabeth mentions, doing her best to make conversation. They don't talk for two days, and all of a sudden it's like they're awkward strangers, trying to seduce each other with their weird facts of mental illness treatment from the 1940s. Annabeth blinks.

"There's other people?" Percy sounds surprised. He makes himself comfortable at her desk. "How many?"

Annabeth doesn't even have to think about it. "Five, excluding myself."

He nods. "Cool."

Almost as if on cue, someone cracks her door open slightly. "Hey, Travis is gonna do trick shots for basketball, and see if he can hit the head nurse on the…" Calypso trails off when she sees Annabeth has a visitor. Annabeth's face feels hot with embarrassment. "Um."

Annabeth jumps up to her feet. "Calypso, this is Percy. Percy, Calypso," she hastily introduces. "He's, um, he's a friend." Annabeth wants to smack herself. He's much more than that—and they both know it—but she really doesn't want to get into that now. It's kinda complicated. Like her, she supposes.

"Oh. That's cool." Calypso leans against the opposing wall. "He's cute."

Annabeth's horrified. Percy's entire face flushes pink. "Thanks?" he says, but it sounds like a question.

"Adolescents," she scoffs like she's not an adolescent herself, but Annabeth knows Calypso's about two years older than her. Calypso rolls her eyes. "Well, we'll be outside." 'Outside' is putting it mildly. It's an illusion of freedom. Last time they went 'outside'—read: were _forced _to—Annabeth noticed the invisible fence. She doesn't really get it. Half these kids would run into it willingly, but she didn't miss the guards lingering around either. "And we'll record it for you," she chimes in.

"Okay," Annabeth quickly says, eager to get rid of Calypso. If she says one more thing about Percy, Annabeth thinks she'll die of mortification.

Calypso walks out and closes the door behind her, for which Annabeth is grateful. She spins to face Percy. "I'm so sorry, oh my god." She runs her hands through her hair, her nails scraping against her scalp. They made her trim them short. "I didn't think she would—"

Percy laughs, his eyes twinkling. "Relax, Annabeth." It feels so good to hear her name in his mouth again. She sighs to herself. "I'm sure she means well."

Annabeth gnaws at her bottom lip. "Yeah," she agrees softly.

"So that's Calypso?" he inquires politely. He leans back in the chair, and it makes a weird squeaky sound.

"Yep." Annabeth pops the 'p.'

"Who else is there?" He walks across to her window, peering outside to look at these people Annabeth's mentioned. Annabeth stands next to him, pointing to each person and explaining who they are.

"That's awful," Percy says after she's done. "You guys have really been through a lot," he sympathetically expresses. Annabeth feels irrationally irritated to be lumped in with them after just a day. She barely knows them. She's still herself. She doesn't want to be like that, a faceless part of a group of sick kids. She's barely sick, anyways.

It hurts to see Percy here when she knows she won't see him again for a while. Maybe this was a mistake.

"So how's it going?" He flops on her bed, staring at the ceiling. "What do you do around here anyways? Besides chucking shit at nurses, of course." He smiles to himself.

Annabeth shrugs. "Nothing, really. I finished all my homework though. Could you take it back for me?"

Percy stares at her. "That was two weeks' worth of work."

"And? I'm bored."

Percy blinks. "You're fucking inhuman," he declares before falling back down. She bites the inside of her cheek at his strange, but very much Percy-esque compliment. "Yes, I'll take it back. And I'll tell your teachers to give you an A just because what the actual fuck. I don't even do the assignment within the same _week, _sometimes."

She laughs to herself. "How's school going for you?"

"I miss my favorite tutor."

Her breath hitches. _Oh._

He grins at nobody in particular. She likes to think he reserves that sort of shy smile only for her. It warms her all over. "But I know she's doing okay. And I know she's getting better. And so it's okay. I can figure out fucking pre-calc if she can figure out the things that really matter in life."

His words are oddly heavy. It weighs her down. God, she can only _hope _she can figure shit out. "Hey, when are we going to finish training? We only had like a month left? I'll be out in like two weeks, we can probably—"

Percy sits up quickly. "We're not training," he says slowly, cautiously.

Annabeth furrows her eyebrows. "That's fucking preposterous, Percy, what the hell are you talking about? I want a puppy, remember?" She's joking, but she's also really fucking serious. She doesn't fucking care what the doctors say. She's _getting _that dog.

Percy frowns. "I'm not doing that to you. Are you fucking kidding me?" He shakes his head, his mind made up. "I'm not training you until you're better."

Frustration returns. He doesn't fucking get it. "That's going to be forever," she says before she can stop herself.

Percy hesitates. "I know, but I'm really proud of you for giving it a go, but at the end of the day, your health is the first priority."

It finally spills over. "No," Annabeth gasps. "Percy," she pleads, trying to reason with him. He can see how upset she's getting, and he reaches out to soothe her, but she jerks back. She can't do this. Her entire life has already been turned upside, and she's probably gained like five million pounds in the past three days, and she fucking _hates _herself, and she just wants a normal life, is that too much to ask for?

This isn't working. This fucking isn't working. She hates it. She hates it.

She. Hates. It.

Annabeth snaps. "I'm not giving up now!" She's pretty sure she's making a scene, and poor Percy probably has no idea what the fuck caused this, but she can't do this anymore all of a sudden. She needs more. She needs her own bed, and her brothers, and her old life back. She needs mental stimulation that actually means something. She needs her normal, non-fucked-up friends back in her life. And she needs Percy to treat her fucking normally because he's the _one _person, the only one who could ever get it, and he's not supposed to give up on her like this, he's not supposed to treat her like a sick girl who can't do shit, whose disease has fucking ruined her life, he's not supposed to move away to college and leave her behind in this place of carpet floors and socks and cheetos and goddamn bent Uno cards, where you don't even play Uno the _right _way—she feels like she can't breathe.

Percy draws back, giving her space. "I'm sure if you ask your dad, he'll just give you a dog," Percy reasons. He can see her unraveling at the seams.

He doesn't fucking _get it. _He doesn't understand her. If he says one more stupid thing, she thinks she's going to scream, or break the glass of her window, or both. Maybe this really _is _Shutter Island.

"This isn't about the goddamn dog, Percy!" Anddddd she's crying. She fucking hates herself for it, but she can't help it. She's weak and tired and sick of eating and anxious all the fucking time. And he's only visited for the first time, and she's already ruined it. Annabeth breathes deeply, calming herself.

"Talk to me," Percy pleads. He gently takes her skinny wrists in his hands. "I can't read your mind, Annabeth. Tell me what's wrong. You said things were good here? Is there anything I can fix?"

She sucks in a shaky breath. He's too fucking good for her and this world and everything. And he's always been able to read her mind. She knows it's unreasonable, but she needs him to read her brain now of all times. She shakes her head no to his question. To _all _his questions. Things are _okay _here. Okay isn't good. Okay is okay. And he can't fix it because he can't fucking fix _her_—the root of all her problems—but she really fucking wishes he could.

"Okay," he acknowledges. "Did you eat today?"

She nods slowly. She's still crying, mind you.

"I'm sure that was hard," he comforts her. Percy rubs small circles on the insides of her wrists. She breathes in and out methodically.

She nods, teary-eyed still.

"Are you angry that you can't control this?" His voice is gentle, understanding.

She nods again.

"Annabeth, you don't have to give everything up, do you understand me?"

She doesn't move.

"Annabeth," he tries again, and she slowly nods. "Some things will inevitably change. Maybe one day we can run the marathon together, okay? But for now, one step at a time. Not 26 miles, but maybe one here and there. Not sprinting for time, but maybe a light jog here and there."

But she really fucking _wants _the 26 miles. She was so close. It feels like failure, and Chases don't bode well with failure. The word tastes disgusting on her tongue. Fucking '_failure.'_

"I did some research into it."

She looks up at him, her interest piqued.

"Many long-distance runners have eating disorders. It tends to run in the community. I'm not throwing you back into that, do you understand me?"

She tenses up.

"Tell me you understand."

"I understand," Annabeth croaks out. And she does. She just doesn't want to. She knows he cares, she knows everyone cares, and that's why she's here, but she doesn't like change. Especially not like this. She feels like a failure. Always. It's a world-crashing revelation. Annabeth stumbles a little, but Percy's there, holding her upright, holding her close to him.

"I'm supposed to do the impossible though," she says, her voice quivering.

Percy looks pained. "I know," he whispers. He squeezes her hand tightly. He's still so much stronger than her, and she feels unfamiliar envy towards him, towards his freedom, towards his ability to control himself. She knows it's the new meds they've put her on that's partially responsible for her mood swings.

"Can you get them to change my meds?" she asks on impulse.

"What?"

"My meds," Annabeth repeats. She tries her best to be patient. "They've got me on these new pills. I fucking hate them, Percy," the desperation floods into her voice again. He applies pressure to her waist, trying to calm her down. It helps. A little. "They make me feel like crap all the time. And if I ask, the doctors won't fucking listen. They say it takes time to change, to adapt, but I fucking know my body, Perce, and I know it's fucking pathetic and useless and it never does what I want it to—"

"—don't say shit like that," he interrupts.

Annabeth pauses. "Okay," she agrees, swallowing thickly. "Point is, I know my body, and I know I hate these, and they make me cry a lot and scream and like laugh like I'm hysterical? It's like I'm bipolar or some shit." She remembers Nico saying he felt bipolar on his pills at first too, and he says he buried them in the grass outside. There's probably so many things buried out there, come to think of it. They gave him more, and he kept burying it. She's starting to think that's not such a bad idea. "You asked what you can fix. Fix this, please, Percy. Nobody's listening to me."

"I'm listening," Percy promises. "And I'll do my damn best," he vows.

She relaxes into him. His promises always come through.

"In fact," Percy's eyes dart around the room, "where are they?"

"The pills?"

He nods.

"I don't have them." Annabeth scowls. "They just force us to drink them at mealtimes and shit, watching us like hawks until we down our personal prescriptions. I bet they think we'll overdose on them or something."

Percy nods again. "Damn. I was thinking I'd just smuggle them out with me."

Annabeth shrugs half-heartedly. "Thanks, anyways."

He shakes his head. "No, fuck that. I'll talk to them on my way out, in fact." He cups her face in his hand, and Annabeth forces herself to pull away. He's not supposed to like a sick, stupid girl. He's supposed to be a varsity captain with a pretty girlfriend and go to college and marry and have kids and be best friends with his friends from high school forever because he's just that type of guy, and Annabeth knows she's the flaw in his grand plan of perfection. She's always been the flaw. In every plan. Even her own. It's bitter, but true.

Percy's eyes tinge with hurt, but he backs off, respecting her space.

"Thanks," she mumbles. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"Don't worry about it."

Annabeth worries anyways. She wonders how long it's going to be before he calls it quits on her fucking bullshit. It can't be very long now. He's already dealt with it for at least a week now. That's too much for any sane person.

It's at this point in her life that she realizes there is no metaphor, no semblance of understanding. Romanticizing these scars does no one any good, and it doesn't make the pain run any shallower, and his support doesn't fix her issues—and it never will, and what she's done to herself isn't beautiful, as much as Tumblr girls want to fawn over her issues, and compare her blood to ink, and compare her eyes to stars. There is no metaphor for this kind of pain. There is only shame, not in struggling—struggling is the reminder that we are human, and only ever confined to our bodies and our souls—but in knowing that she is entirely someone else than she used to be, a hollow shell of her past. She has ceased to bring flowers to the grave of the person she once was, and that marks the end of an era.

"Like I said… it's the pills." Annabeth pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to offer an explanation, any explanation.

"I know. Don't worry about it," Percy assures her again.

She nods blankly. She feels like a zombie. She closes her eyes, breathing in and out again.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

Annabeth opens her eyes, and he's still gazing at her.

"You're going to be okay," he whispers like he's afraid of her reaction.

She feels really shitty for scaring him. He doesn't fucking deserve that. "How do you know?" Her voice is small.

"I just do," Percy tells her. It's not based on evidence or science or anything Annabeth knows and likes, but it's _him_, and she trusts his word for better or worse.

"Percy, would you like me if I wasn't… a mess?" she finally asks. It's been bothering her for a while. She's too tired to even be horrified by her words.

Percy's shocked for a moment, but he quickly composes himself. "I already like you."

That's not the answer she wants. She doesn't even know why she fucking asked. He'll always say that, and there's a part of her that insists he's lying. He's got to be. Nobody can like a fucking trainwreck. Not even the worst of masochists.

"You shouldn't." Annabeth's closed her eyes again. She doesn't want to see his face when the blow lands.

"Why not?"

He's so fucking innocent. She really misses his mouth on hers—she only felt it once, but it was all she could think about—but she knows she doesn't deserve it. He needs more. He needs better. He needs a normal ass person who doesn't freak out over a piece of kale. Fuck kale. Fuck this. _Breathe. _Annabeth grits her teeth.

"Because I'm ninety-nine percent sure I'm crazy," she admits. She's half-joking, but also not really.

"What about the other one percent?" He's half-joking too, but he's nervous.

It makes her feel guiltier than she already does. He feels nervous around _her _because she's fucking ruined him. It wasn't supposed to go this far. It's an eerily similar feeling to the last time she was admitted in that hospital when she was fifteen. She never meant to take it this far. He shouldn't care for her. It's going to hurt him because she's always, _always _going to hurt herself. She just is. It's a fact like the sun rising each morning and setting each night. It's unchangeable, it's concrete, it's inevitable.

"I save that one percent for channeling the crazy into genius," she whispers. Her eyes are still closed, and she finds solace in feeling his hands on her upper arms, keeping her steady, and in the dark canvas behind her vision.

"That sounds like you," he teases, but it's wobbly.

She hates herself. Look what the fuck she did to him. Fucking looking at him. She wants to pitch herself off a cliff. She wants to ask him not to visit anymore. She wants to ask him to never leave. She's getting a splitting headache again. Oh, hell, fuck German shepherds too.

"I don't like you," Annabeth lies on impulse. She's only testing it out, and it sounds unsure, and she internally curses herself for sounding so stupid. He knows she's lying—it's fucking clear as day—but she hopes he feels the hurt anyways. If she hurts him enough, maybe he'll get the message. Maybe he'll go away and spare himself from her self-destructive streak.

"That's unfortunate." His voice is flat.

She opens her eyes to glare at him, maybe in confusion too because that wasn't quite snarky, but it wasn't like _sad _or _angry _either—both emotions she's well-versed in hearing from people around her—but she freezes at his next words.

"Because I think I might be in love with you."

…

Time stops. It's cliche, but it really feels like it. Annabeth's pretty sure she's supposed to feel overwhelming joy, but it's only dread. He's not supposed to confess. They were supposed to dance around each other forever until one of them gave in, or she tragically died, or _something _because this cannot be happening right now.

Her mouth falls open. Percy's not looking at her—he's staring at his shoes—but his grip on her has significantly tightened. She needs him to let go now and walk out of her life forever because this is too much.

"I wasn't going to tell you yet… or for a while… or ever, maybe. I don't know." Now he looks up. His eyes are too much. She can't force herself to look away, but she really wants to. "It's not really a good time," Percy wistfully says. "Especially when I want you to be better first. To love yourself first." Percy's face is sort of pale, like he's been tossing and turning over this a lot recently.

"And I don't want to hear you say anything in return, really, whether it's rejection, which I'm honestly expecting, or otherwise. Because this wasn't supposed to put you on the spot. You're under no obligation to say anything or do anything of that sort." Percy swallows.

His lack of faith in her is soul-crushing, but she kind of gets it. She would expect that heartlessness from her too.

"But I think I've maybe loved you for a long time. Super inappropriate when I was supposed to be training you, I know." He shakes his head to himself, a hollow laugh escaping his lips. "But I've loved you since before I even kissed you, really. I love it when you smile, as cheesy and stupid as that sounds, and I like it even more when _I'm _the one who caused it, and I love that you ran extra laps just because you want to prove me wrong—who _does _that; I always collapsed after laps—and I love your princess hair, it's wild how perfect they are, and I love your jokes, and I love that you make fun of me even when it's over something I'm supposed to be good at, like track, and I love that you teach me math and give me candy because that's really weird, and I'm kind of really weird too, and I think you might be too, and I really should've rehearsed this because I sound stupid as fuck right now, but I didn't think I'd be in full confession mode anytime soon, and I know that as soon as I stop talking, you're going to stamp all over my heart, and that's okay too, but that's probably why I can't stop talking, because I really want to delay that shit, and I know unrequited love is for losers, but maybe I'm a little bit of a loser for you, and I loved you before your big fall, and honestly I still love you through it, and I'm certain I will after too, after you're back to feeling like you, and I don't think anyone could ever, _ever _take that away from me."

He takes a deep breath. "And you probably think I'm super delusional—which, like, that's fair, I'm like seventeen—but my mom's always taught me the difference between right and wrong, and she's always been really good about this shit, and I've totally told her all about you because I'm like obsessed to stalker degree, which is also pretty weird, and everything about you feels so right, and I just _know_ that you had me from day one, which is pretty pathetic if I do say so myself. Jason says I'm whipped, but I don't know… it's easy when it's you. It's always you. It was always you, and I'm pretty sure it'll always be you. Okay, I'm done stalling. You can crush me now."

Annabeth's heart is hammering in her chest. She can't do it. She knows she should. She should let him down easy. It's not that she doesn't like him—she really does, a _lot _actually, to the degree that _scares _her—but this isn't good for him.

She manages not to cry. She'll call it progress, honestly.

"Percy…" she begins, shaking. Percy's eyebrows furrow together. He doesn't look disappointed, and she just knows he's built up a shield to protect his heart before spilling his guts out on a platter for her. "You're not supposed to say that kind of stuff." She's panicking, she can feel it. She doesn't _understand. _"You're perfect," she chokes it.

Percy keeps her from falling, but she pushes his hands away. She's choking. She can't breathe. Is this what a panic attack is like? Is the world supposed to be spinning? She ate too much today. She feels like throwing up. "You're not supposed to like me."

Are her hands shaking? Is it just her imagination? She tries to hold them still. No, they're definitely shaking; they're moving back and forth past the tiny chip on the foot of her bed.

"I'm not worth this… this adoration of yours." She imagines this is what it's like to drown, to gasp for air. "I'm n-not." Annabeth reaches back for the wall, steadying himself. He really wants to help her, she can see it in his eyes, but she doesn't fucking want him to. She can't really tell if they're arguing at this point. She feels herself going over the edge, and she explodes.

"You're so much better than me, don't you understand?" Her eyes are wide, and angry, and upset, and everything in between, and she's never hated being human more than she does now. "You're supposed to think I'm a _freak!_"

Percy exhales harshly. She's pretty sure he wasn't anticipating this, wasn't anticipating her to concave, to tear herself to shreds and then some. She's fucking wild. She feels powerful, she feels powerless, she doesn't know. Everything hurts.

"If you touch me, I'll scream this entire place down!" she threatens when Percy makes a move towards her. "I'm a fucking _disease, _Percy. I'm going to eat away your goodness, and that's why… that's why you need to stay the _fuck _away from me." It's word vomit, but it's maybe the most honest thing she's ever said to him. At the end of the day, it'll always boil down to this. She's not good enough for him. She fucking knows it too. And she won't drag him down into her pits of despair with her. "And I'm so sorry I've taken you this far." Is she crying? Is she sweating? Both? She doesn't fucking know. Her head is _splitting into two._

"You're supposed to have conveniently lost my number when I moved into this hellhole!" The interns can probably hear her. Good. Juniper might kick him out. Good. Maybe he'll never come back. Maybe she's too much. Maybe this is the final straw. _Good. _She's doing this for him, she has to. "I'm anorexia with a side of Annabeth!" She's pretty sure she's not making sense. That's okay. Maybe she'll scare him enough. "They won't stop, it's never going to stop, Percy. You're banking on this… this beautiful, but ultimately unrealistic idea that someday I'm going to be better, but I'm _never _going to be better. _Never_," she hisses.

Percy's not quite crying yet, but she knows he's upset. _Good. _Let him leave. Let him know the extent of this.

"This is the end for me, Percy. And I know it hurts. But it's the fucking truth." She's running out of steam. "And I'm not putting you on this sinking ship with me. You better get the fuck out of here before it's too late. I think one of Piper's friends likes you." She really doesn't know where _that _came from, but she knows it's true. Who doesn't like Percy Jackson? He's Percy freakin' Jackson. "Get that gold star, Perce. Get the life you've always wanted. I'll be… here. Always. And maybe that'll be your sanity. That I'm just here. I can't really go forward, but I can't go backwards. I'm stuck here, in these shades of grey, in self-starvation and lack of self-preservation. I don't even want to get better anymore."

It winds her, how true it is. She doesn't really care about healing anymore. She never realized till now.

"I'm not worth the dust on your shoes, wonder boy." She shakes her head. Her wrist hurts. She might've sprained it. Of course she did. Her entire body is fucking crying for her. She's withering away. She lost some eyelashes yesterday, she's so sick. "So do what you do best. Run far, far away from here, and if you know what's good for you, you won't come back." She rakes her nails on her face, but they don't even leave a scratch. She hates them for trimming them. She hates them. She hates this. She can't even _feel _anymore. Numbness is a friend she never wanted.

Annabeth jerks her arm over to her desk. She grabs the photograph she'd knocked over a while back. The glass is shattered. She did that about one day ago. The interns had swept it all up, though, so nobody could hurt themselves. She tosses it at him now.

"Look at this. Fucking at look at it."

Percy does as he's told. His expression sobers, unhappy by her obvious unhappiness in the photograph. It's bleak. Like her future. She almost wants to laugh.

"Thank you for trying, but, please, just let me go," Annabeth whimpers one last time. She feels drained, the energy seeping out of her. She slides down the wall, sitting on the ground, her knees pulled up to her chest. "I can't do this anymore, and there's nothing you can do." She puts her head in her knees, and she breathes.

In. Out. In. Out. It'll never be enough. She wishes she'd stop. She's tried before. She's tried late at night, tried to suffocate herself in a pillow, tried to hold her breath, but she always gives in at the end.

"Are you done?"

Percy's voice breaks through her false sense of a wall.

"God, I hope so," she mumbles. She doesn't think he hears.

"Me too," he agrees. He sounds exhausted. She's sorry she's pulled him in so many directions. "Listen to me, you fucking idiot."

Annabeth flinches. That sounds pretty accurate. She's pretty she's never heard him this angry. She looks up. He's pissed. Yep.

Percy's jaw is tense, and he looks positively murderous. She prays he'll murder her first.

"The door's over there," she drawls. It's snarky and mean but that's just how she's feeling right now, and she's already apologized for it way too many times for it to be worth it anymore.

"I know."

"Percy. Stop."

"No."

She scrutinizes him, exasperated and incredulous.

"You're coming with me. Stand up," Percy demands.

"What?" Annabeth's pretty sure she's heard him wrong.

"You heard me."

She doesn't move a muscle.

"No. I'm not moving. _You _are. You're leaving. Did you even hear me?"

"Oh, I heard you." Percy shakes his head to himself, sighing. His eyes are bloodshot. She thinks hers are too. She thinks to herself that this is the part in movies where they kiss, where they argue and get closer and closer and closer, and then they kiss, and it's perfect. But this is real life. It's ugly, it's hard, it's not perfect. It's fucking exhausting, emotionally and physically.

If he kissed her, she would've punched him. If he kissed her then that meant he wasn't listening at all, and he didn't fucking understand anything.

"Get up, Annabeth," he urges. It's gentle, but convincing. She stands up. He doesn't help her up. He doesn't baby her. It only proves her point that he's too fucking good for her. She doesn't bother to ask where they're going; it can't be worse than here.

He doesn't touch her, but she knows to follow. Her mind is only dully throbbing now. Percy makes a beeline for the front desk.

"Can I talk to your head nurse?" he asks Juniper.

Juniper's gaze goes back and forth between her and Percy, but he doesn't fucking move. "Now," he repeats again, his voice cold. She cringes; it's not a voice she's used to. She's broken him. Fuck.

Juniper springs into action. "Yes, sir. Sorry," she apologizes, heading out back. She returns moments later, a middle-aged woman at her side. Suddenly, Annabeth's nervous. She looks up at Percy to gauge his reaction, but he's impassive. She's scared of what he's going to do. This is uncharted territory for them both.

"May I see the pills you've been giving her?"

So that's where he's going with this. Annabeth anxiously taps her fingers against the counter. Juniper swallows.

The head nurse sizes him up. "I'm sorry, sir, but we can't let visitors handle our medicine. And you're not her legal guardian or parent," she says, "so—"

"Give me her fucking pills," Percy bites out.

Juniper takes a step back because you're not supposed to _say _that.

Annabeth's curls whip behind her, and she finally takes a good look at Percy Jackson. He's taller than her, and his demeanor is cold and uninviting. She's never really been scared of him until now. Perhaps that was one of her many mistakes.

"I'm sorry you're upset, sir, but—"

"If you don't hand them over in five seconds, I'm going to blow up, and I _promise _you don't want that." His eyes glint dangerously. Annabeth shakes in her stupid fucking socks. Juniper's eyes are wide, terrified. "I'm not going to fucking ingest them, and I'm not going to let her overdose. Do you honestly think I'd shove pills down her throat when I fucking love this girl standing next to me? I'm not fucking stupid, and she's a fucking genius."

Annabeth seizes up, both uncomfortable by his praise, and his harsh language. Not that she hasn't been mean either.

"I'm not going to let her die. And I'm not leaving until I have this shit in my hand."

Juniper ignores her protesting boss. She looks sympathetically at Annabeth, before handing it over to Percy, thoroughly frightened.

"Thank you." His words are overly crisp.

He pops open the cap, and the head nurse begins trying to reason with him. She's coming around the counter, but Percy shoots her one death-glare, and she freezes.

"Here." He holds the bottle out to her.

"Sir!" The nurse is horrified.

Annabeth's fingers go numb. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

He spills all the contents into his hand, holding a fistful of pills. He turns it over in her palm. It feels dangerous to hold them, tempting, disgusting, everything.

"Step on it. I thought it was obvious."

"I'm not stepping on it, Per—"

"Step on it. So help me god, Annabeth." He crosses his arms over his chest.

"Those are really expensive," Juniper tries, holding the nurse back. Or maybe she's hiding behind the taller woman. Annabeth doesn't really blame her.

Percy ignores them all. "If you're fucking angry, then take it out." He gestures in front of her. "Give it your all."

"Why?"

"You feel powerless, but you're more than this. You're more than disease, and you're worth more than you'll ever give yourself credit for. Fucking smash it to bits, babe. Nobody's here to judge."

Annabeth cautiously puts them on the ground, watching him. He's watching her too. He doesn't say anything.

She brings her heel down onto them.

The pills explode, and a stab of satisfaction flows through her. She looks up at him, but Percy spreads his hands towards them.

"That's it? That can't possibly be it. Again."

"What?" she protests.

"Again. There's still huge chunks."

"Percy, this is ridiculous—"

"I don't fucking care. Again," he demands.

She stomps on it again. And again. And again. It feels _good. _No—it's more than that. It's exhilarating. She feels strong for perhaps the first time in years. It's refreshing, and new, and more than she could've ever asked for. They're millions of little bits by the time she's done, practically powder.

"Good," Percy encourages. "I think I've figured it out." He scrutinizes the center. Everyone, even the head nuse, is dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.

"I don't give a fuck what anyone else says. This place is heaven for your new friends and poison for you. Do you know why?"

She quickly shakes her head no.

"You're bored out of your mind, and what do you do when you've got nothing to take care of? You fucking obsessively watch everything you're doing, listen to your heartbeat, count your calories. You need to be busy. You need a distraction. You need something new. You need to be challenged. We're packing your stuff."

"You need to be released, formally," the head nurse weakly argues, but she slumps her shoulders. She's kinda lost this battle.

Annabeth's blood is roaring. She's never felt more alive than now.

"We're running a marathon, baby. And you're getting that dog. And then we'll do three marathons. And then we'll climb Everest. And you're going to eat whatever the hell you want because at some point you're going to _have _to eat if you want to win everything."

He knows how to get to her.

"We'll start you off small. Salads. Then grains. Then good carbs. Then balance. And then we're going to run the entire border of New York City twenty times a day for the fucking fun of it. And then we'll do the Boston Marathon, like fucking New York traitors in enemy territory, and we'll do the Jungle Marathon in Brazil, and we're never going to stop."

She shrinks under his intense gaze, but her heart is three times the size of normal, and maybe she really is the fucking Grinch, because it won't stop growing at his determination and his words.

"Are you aware you sound crazy?" she cautiously inquires.

He snorts. "Annabeth, I was _born _crazy. 100%."

She slowly smiles. She can't help it. She loves him. She's so screwed. "I'm really sorry, Percy. Back there, I was way out of line."

"Don't." He patiently holds up his hand. "Stop apologizing so goddamn much. It's part of the problem. You have to feel things, Annabeth. You can't just shut it out every time what you feel is inconvenient or difficult. That's not the Annabeth I know, the one who sort of exploded. That's constrained Annabeth, who makes poor decisions and is especially generous with self-loathing."

"Exercising vigorously isn't maybe the best solution." The head nurse is cautious but critical.

Percy rolls his eyes, and he doesn't give her the time of day, brushing past her to Annabeth's room. She dutifully follows. He's mean today. She feels guilty for reveling in his anger, but it makes her so happy it's ridiculous. Even her dad, who she absolutely adores, would never do this. He's meek, sometimes like her, and he follows the rules, and he's brilliant, but one of society. She feels the same. But not Percy, never him. He's doesn't give a flying fuck what other people think when he's mad, and it makes her irrationally giddy.

Annabeth giggles wildly as he helps her pack her things. "You just, you just—" She spreads her arms vaguely and bursts out laughing. It's maybe the first time she's laughed in days. Percy stops looking mad and pissed for a moment, and the corner of his lip twitches. There's the soft doofus she knows and loves.

"I did, didn't I?" he speculates, and she throws a shirt at him to fold. He gladly obliges.

"You let me smash so much money." Annabeth grins from ear to ear.

"Shut up."

She laughs again, delighted. "Percy?" She's sort of serious now, and he turns his head to look at her. "Thank you."

He shakes his head. "Don't mention it."

"No, really. Thank you. Nobody's ever…" she trails off.

"Like I said." He's quiet. "You're worth everything to me. And nothing you say or do could change that."

"I love you." It's bold, but it's true. "And I've always known it. But I just didn't want to admit it."

Percy peers at her cautiously. "Would you smack me if I kissed you right now?"

She grins. "It's wildly inappropriate to kiss in a mental health facility, Percy."

"I don't give a fuck," he murmurs, and he practically drags her over to him, sliding his nose past hers and capturing her lips. Annabeth's heart sighs a little, content. She hadn't realized how much she'd been waiting for that moment again. It'd been much too long. This time, she's demanding, energized, pushing him down and roughing up his shirt when she kisses him. He doesn't complain.

"Okay, let's go," he breathes, pulling away. He offers her the tiniest smile, and her heart skips a beat. "Mkay?"

"Mkay," she agrees.

Percy drags her suitcase behind them as they leave, and this time, she's holding both pictures in her hands as they walk away. You can't be intimidated by your past, you just can't. It makes you who you are.

…

"Stop fucking complaining."

But Annabeth can hear him smiling. She turns to look at him, and, sure enough, there's a begrudging tilt in his lips. She grins. "You think it's entertaining," she accuses as they stretch together post-workout.

"I do not," he scoffs, indignified, but he's a crap liar.

"You do." Mirth dances in her eyes. "Fucking idiot."

"Just do your stretches, Wise Girl."

She rolls her eyes. "I am, you dolt."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"I said it first."

"What are you, fucking five?"

"I'm four and a half, thank you very much." Percy huffs, and she breaks, laughing first. "I always win this."

"You do not."

"Annie," he croons in a sickeningly-sweet tone.

"Call me that again, and I will fucking _castrate _you." She glares at him.

He smirks. "Is that a challenge?"

He should not look that attractive, sprawled out elegantly across the blacktop as he stretches. That's called being unfair.

She tilts her head to one side. "You have three seconds."

Percy jumps to his feet, sprinting down the track. She'll never catch up with him—he's much too fast—but she tries anyways.

He watches her from afar, making a good distance away. "Annie!" he taunts and promptly shrieks like a child when she darts after him, the wind in her hair. It's thrilling. He's thrilling. She catches up to him, and she knows he let her. She'd never actually be able to, but it's okay. It's step one. There's still a long way to go, and she's willing to wait it out.

"Hi," he whispers, face to face with her.

She bites her lip to keep from smiling, but he's too adorable for her heart, and honestly yeah of course she fucking smiles. "I bet your mom's really proud of your face."

"That's _so _weird."

"So are you," she points out.

Percy contemplates this. "Good point." And then he kisses her. Because he can.

…

She bats his hands away. "Will you quit reaching in and out of your pockets like that? You look like you're trying to smuggle something," Annabeth snaps.

"What would I be smuggling into a _wedding_?" Percy sarcastically drawls.

"Drugs. Cigarettes. Candy. I don't fucking know. Just cut it out."

"Yes, ma'am." He stops twitching, but then he starts bouncing his knee nervously instead.

"Percy." Her voice is strained, but understanding.

"My mom's getting _married_, Annabeth." Percy shakes his head to himself, still awestruck.

Annabeth doesn't really understand the magic of weddings. When you're a failed product of a divorced marriage and the bane of your step-mother's existence for so long, it's kind of weird to see sudden sparkles in the bride's eyes, and the hope floating the the air, and the fucking shiny, glittery dreams in the groom's goddamn bowtie. No, she doesn't really operate like that.

But hell if she doesn't see it on Percy's face as he straightens Paul's bowtie and awkwardly makes conversation with him because he just really loves his mom, and nobody can hate a boy who loves his mom like how Percy loves Sally.

Annabeth hasn't forgotten her deal, though it's much less formal now. Of course she would accompany him to his mom's wedding; they're friends, more than friends, maybe, but not significant others. Just those words make Annabeth want to cringe, so they don't define the relationship. She likes it how it is. If somebody asks, they're friends, but sometimes when she's tutoring him, she might kiss him for getting a question right, and sometimes after running a lap in her new record time, Percy will press his lips to hers even though she's sweaty, and he's gross, and someone probably sees them, but it's just casual. That's how they like it.

Now Percy graduates to fiddling with his tie. Annabeth's never tied a tie, so she doesn't even try, but she's mesmerized when she watches Percy's slim fingers do it, looping around and back again.

Also, why does the media always portray women tying men's ties? The majority of women don't wear ties themselves. Why would they be more adept at it?

Annabeth's a little lost, contemplating the weird standards of life, but Percy's looking paler with each passing second, and she finally lets out a sigh of exasperation and stands up, neatly smoothing her royal blue dress down. She totally didn't pick the color for him.

"Let's get you some blue mints to suck on," Annabeth suggests. Maybe that'll help calm him down. If she doesn't know better, she'd say that Percy's almost more nervous than the actual engaged themselves. It's okay, though. It's endearing. She sizes him up as he awkwardly stands. "And maybe some ice too," she mutters.

They approach the food bar. It's kind of uncomfortable, and Annabeth's stomach does the flip-flop thing it likes to do when she's thinking about food, but it's getting better, really.

She thinks maybe Percy should be a doctor. He really gets people, and he knows what makes them tick. It's admirable, especially for a programmed robot like herself.

Some days she eats better than others. She doesn't throw it up anymore; she hasn't in at least two weeks. It's slow, painstaking progress, but it's progress nonetheless, and Percy helps prevent her from feeling discouraged. He's a saint, really.

He doesn't push her. He always makes sure mealtimes are the least stressful part of her day possible. Her dad does the same. Nobody comments on her food or lack thereof or habits.

Annabeth sees the doctor regularly. They try not to weigh her every time, and that makes her feel a little better. Watching the numbers go up is only anxiety-inducing.

She goes to talk-therapy four times a month. It's relaxing, actually, and it's Dakota's dad's close friend, so she feels a little more at home, even if that's super unreasonable.

Annabeth quickly realizes nothing can cure her until she decides she wants to be cured. It's a revelation. Percy makes sure she doesn't faint. He's good at that. She knows he's watching her eating habits even if he doesn't comment. Most of the time she appreciates it, but sometimes she snaps at him. He never leaves, though, true to his word. Nothing she can ever do or say will persuade him to leave.

Sometimes she hurts him. He's not invincible. She begs for his forgiveness, even if he says he doesn't need to forgive her if he was never mad in the first place. They both know he's lying. He forgives her. They move on. Always forward, that's Percy's thinking process. She's adopted it. She quite likes it.

"Here." Annabeth messily cups ice in her hand and dumps it into a glass bowl. "Munch."

Percy dutifully crunches on the ice. Grover makes fun of him. Then Percy talks about how fucking nervous he is, and Grover's face slowly shifts to his own panic, and then they're both crunching ice, hovered over the ice bar like two peas in a pod. Ice peas.

They go to sit down, and she eyes them with fondness she hasn't felt in a long time. They're downing the ice at an alarming pace.

"I'll get you more," Annabeth offers, standing up. Percy hesitates, eyeing the food table before relenting.

"You're a godsend," he proclaims, and her painted lips pull into a small smile. In reality, he's the godsend, but she's trying to love herself, she really is, so she lets it go.

Annabeth gingerly picks up a bowl when this boy stands dead in front of her. It's no mistake, she can tell.

"I've never met you before," he smoothly begins their conversation.

Annabeth cringes a little. She really doesn't want to meet Percy's friends without him. Something tells her this isn't a friend, though.

"I'm Luke Castellan," he introduces himself. His teeth gleam so brightly they nearly blind her. She obliges anyways, shaking his hand, albeit reluctantly. Annabeth awkwardly puts the bowl down, hoping he'll take a hint that she's busy and back off. Of course he doesn't.

Percy's probably waiting for her. She internally groans. Maybe she can speed this up. "Annabeth Chase," she quips indelicately. She grabs a piece of ice, forcing him to move over by reaching over him.

Luke's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Nope. Still don't recognize it. My apologies. Can I offer you a drink?" He pours her a cup before she can protest.

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he doesn't recognize her—she's a perfect stranger for goodness sake.

Annabeth awkwardly holds the cup, peering at the liquid with distaste. She can tell it's loaded with sugar, and for the first time ever she thinks Percy might agree with her reluctance to consume something. The sugar will only make her sick—she's not used to it anymore—and she'll feel guilty afterwards. She doesn't want it. Percy would never push, but this guys certainly seems like she will. This is like forcing her to eat a feast as soon as she admits to an eating disorder. Her stomach is the size of a sparrow now. It takes time. Besides, if she drinks it, she'll definitely throw up, and then the miniscule amount of food she's managed to eat will all come back up again.

Annabeth doesn't drink from it, but she smiles at him out of sheer politeness. She wishes she could just walk away. _You could_, a voice in the back of her mind nags. But she doesn't want to be rude. That's just not how she rolls.

"I'm here for a friend," she says politely.

Luke bobs his head in understanding. "That explains it." He sips from his drink casually. He's not _not _attractive, but she's really not interested. She's only got eyes for one, anyways.

"Which friend?"

"That would be me." Percy stalks up next to her, scowling. Her cheeks flush in surprise when his hand slithers around her waist, leaning against the tabletop, and protectively caging her. She tries not to move. So her gut instinct was right; Percy doesn't like this guy. She's never seen Percy get possessive before, and honestly Annabeth's a little intrigued.

"Oh. Percy," Luke greets, but it's stiff.

Percy ignores him. "We're cousins. Kind of. Distant, distant cousins," Percy amends, explaining before Annabeth can even ask. There he goes again with the mind-reading thing. Annabeth nods in understanding.

"Sorry I was taking so long," she nervously adds when nobody says anything.

Percy awkwardly takes the untouched cup from her hand, inspecting it carefully before setting it down. She's grateful. "You're fine," he assures her. "I just figured you might need help or something," he lies. It's a lie for Luke, she knows that much, but she appreciates his quick thinking nonetheless.

"I'm surprised you didn't bring a girlfriend, Percy," Luke mentions coolly. She squints at him. What an asshole.

"He did," Annabeth says involuntarily. Look, she likes it when Percy gets angry as much as the next gal—it truly is a sight to behold—but this is supposed to be a big day for Percy and his family, and she's not going to let Luke Cassy, or Cassidy, or Castle, or whatever the fuck his name is, ruin it.

Percy glances at her in surprise, but she squeezes his side to shut him up and persuade him to play along.

"Hmm?" Luke's tone is always kinder with her. Oh, and she _hates_ fake guys.

"Please stop flirting with me. You're truly daft if you haven't caught onto the fact that _I'm_ the said girlfriend."

All the color drains from Luke's face. It's petty, but she's petty, and Percy's possessive, and they're both weird as shit, and they're made for each other. She'd follow him into battle; making his idiot cousins choke was child's play.

Something takes over Annabeth, and she kisses him right then and there in front of people she knows, and people she doesn't, and Percy's ears are slowly turning red, and she kisses him harder still. And then, dragging him by the hand, she flounces away, her dress twirling wonderfully behind her.

Percy stares at her as they sit down. Grover's disappeared, and she can only guess he's in the bathroom.

"I bet the ceremony's going to start soon," Annabeth coolly mentions.

Percy's mouth opens and closes like a fish. He adjusts his collar, giving him room to breathe. The pink is creeping up his neck too. "You—" He's speechless, and she beams at him.

"It was no big deal. He was being a major jerk."

"You—" His mouth goes dry again.

"Oh, come on, Perce. It's not that big of a deal."

He shakes his head profusely. "You said you're my _girlfriend_. Pinch me; I'm dreaming."

A blush stains high on her cheeks. "Stop making it weird."

Percy grins. "This is actually the best day of my life—"

"No, stop. Shut up." She tries to cover her ears, smiling despite herself, but Percy outpowers her.

"You got so sassy, oh my god. That was so cut—"

"Seaweed Brain, I swear!" Annabeth's exasperated. She's embarrassed too, obviously. "You're making it into a thing," she whines, and he laughs, a boyish laugh that makes her smile, and tug her a little closer towards him.

"Don't make fun of me when I cry."

She laughs at him. "Oh, I fully plan to."

…

After Annabeth gushes to Sally about how gorgeous it all was, and they take lots of pictures, and Percy and Sally and even Paul cry a bunch, she finally meets who the tall guy Percy stands next to in every picture is.

His name is Tyson, she learns, and he's Percy's half-brother from his paternal side, but Sally adores him despite not sharing a drop of blood, so she insisted on inviting him.

Tyson's sweet. He brings Percy tissues while they both cry together. He tells Annabeth she's pretty. Not that her dress is pretty—_she's_ pretty. It's a small difference, but Annabeth adores it anyhow. He's a true gentleman. He gets his girlfriend Ella dinner and cake dutifully, and Percy sits with him on one side and her, of course, on the other at dinner. Grover sits on Annabeth's other side, whose company she finds she enjoys as well.

Tyson and Percy tell stories, and laugh, and narrate inside jokes, and Annabeth doesn't understand a single thing, but she finds herself laughing at the punchlines either way. Sally is absolutely radiant, and Paul's glowing.

She doesn't know the details, but she's put together the pieces that Percy's childhood was rough. She's really fucking happy for him.

He squeezes her hand under the table when she ingests a little bit of lobster. Percy finishes it for her in the end because she can't bear to eat the whole thing, but she eats at least half, and then she takes some salad too.

He doesn't say it, but he's proud of her. She's really fucking proud of herself too.

…

Some days are better than others, which means that some are worse. Much, much worse.

She's thrown up twice in the last three days, and it's not like she tried to. Her body just can't handle three meals a day anymore.

"Annabeth?" There's a hesitant knock at the door, and she knows just off the weight of the knuckles against the wood that her dad must've let him in. She feels weird that _he's_ here first. It's strange. Piper and Thalia are still best friends, but she thinks Percy might be one too. A wave of nausea overtakes her, though, and all rational thinking flies out of her head.

"It's open," she croaks. Her voice is hoarse. Her breath is minty fresh—she's thrown up enough that she knows to brush her teeth before she starts to feel extra gross.

Percy pushes the door open, and it creaks a little. He quietly closes it behind him before assessing her state on the ground, leaning against the tub with her legs sprawled out on the bathroom floor.

"I heard you weren't feeling so well," he softly mumbles, taking a seat on the ground next to her. He playfully aligns his leg with hers, leaning back against the cold wall and mirroring her. His legs are longer than hers; it must be why he's so tall.

She shakes her head in agreement, absolutely miserable.

"Want to talk about it?"

Annabeth sighs to herself, drawing her knees up to her chest. "It's just so frustrating, you know? I'm really trying, I really am, but my dumbass stomach can't handle anything. Even the good stuff. Even vegetables."

"My stomach can't _ever _handle veggies," Percy jokes. "I eat only blue."

She snorts. "You're going to turn blue one day."

"Do you really think so?" he asks wistfully. "I'll be an Avatar."

"More like Clumsy Smurf."

"I think you mean Hefty Smurf."

"You wish."

"Imagine being strong as fuck and being blue. That's the fucking _life_, man."

"Percy, I'm _genuinely _concerned for you."

He grins at the ground. "Okay, but in all seriousness."

She swallows. It hurts a little.

"Do you want me to get you anything? Tylenol? Water?" he offers, worry lines around his mouth

Annabeth shakes her head. "I'm good, but thank you." Even her bones are tired.

Percy's hand twitches on his lap, palm-up, and she knows it's an offer if she wants it. Annabeth takes his hand, but she feels something strange, something she's never noticed before. On his inner wrist, there's a small white scar. It's an old one, but she can feel the raised skin, a reminder of where it used to be. His hand is warm in hers.

"How come I've never noticed that before?" Annabeth ponders aloud.

"Hmm?" He probably didn't feel it.

"That." Annabeth brushes her thumb over it, and she's more than surprised when his hand jerks back in surprise. Her eyes go wide with surprise. "It's just me!"

Percy's eyes are wide too. Maybe he's just as surprised at his adverse reaction. "Yeah… yeah I know. Sorry. Just caught me off guard," he explains. Percy relaxes a little, letting his hand fall back in hers.

Her chest feels tight. She supposes she's always known something went horribly wrong in his life, but she only ever sees it when he's _truly _angry with someone, which is already a rare occasion in itself; he's a pretty easy-going guy. She's just never seen him so… afraid. It's unnerving. If he's scared, she's fucking dying then, she guesses, because even though she's not a faint-hearted kind of person, Percy's pretty reserved, and anything that makes him jump would probably give her a heart attack.

He doesn't talk for some time, and she doesn't ask. He'll tell her if he wants, but she won't push. He's given her that, at least, and she'll do the same for him. Annabeth squeezes his hand in hers, but his just feels limp.

Percy licks his lips, nervous. "Can… can I explain?"

Annabeth squirms. "You don't have to. It's okay. Really," she insists.

"Do you _want _to know?" he tries instead. He'd tell her if she asked. He'd tell no one else. He's too pure for this shit.

Annabeth stares at the cabinets across from them. "Yes," she answers honestly. "It's a nice… break." From the hell she's created for herself through the years. She slumps against his shoulder, giving in to her exhaustion. He doesn't mind.

"Okay," Percy agrees. His voice wobbles. She catches it easily, but she'll never call him out for it. "As you know," he begins slowly, "my mom recently remarried to Paul."

She bobs her head.

"Obviously, he's not my _dad_." Percy's trying to think of how to say it, she can see it on his face. It makes her grow uneasy. "My father left before I was born," he says, shrugging a little.

Annabeth's sympathetic. She knows what it's like to be abandoned; her mother left her and her dad too, but she was older, not an infant. She was about seven, really, so she had adored Athena by that point. She threw a watch at Frederick and stormed out that night, and they haven't spoken since. That's fine with Annabeth.

"Your situation's a little different, but I think you get that part," Percy mutters. She squeezes his hand reassuringly, encouraging him to continue. "But, hey, you can't miss what you never had, right?" His voice rings by itself in the empty bathroom.

There's something so pathetically sad about his words that she kinda wants to cry. Maybe she's just emotional because she's fatigued, but Annabeth has to look down because if she sees his face while he explains, she's not going to last.

"My mom's the greatest person in the world."

She can't help herself; she looks up, and his eyes are shining. He really loves his mom. Annabeth gets it. Her dad is her Sally Jackson.

"And she's so fucking strong," Percy sounds bitter. "But we… we weren't doing so well. Her parents died in a plane crash when she was barely a teenager, and my grandparents died when she was super young in another tragic accident, so she was pretty much alone. They never had other kids, so that was… that, I guess. She couldn't go to college. She was saving money to survive. Her parents' trust for her was barely started. It's just… all really unfortunate, and she deserved a lot better. She wanted to be a nurse, and that just never happened. She's really smart too. It sucks."

"That's horrible," Annabeth says instead of 'I'm sorry.' Those words have always been hopelessly empty to her.

"It gets worse," Percy assures her. His laugh is hollow and short, echoing off the mirror, and she goes back to staring at her socks. "We needed another income, so my mom married for the first time. It wasn't special or anything. It was small and cheap, but we were hoping it'd be a new beginning. I was probably about four or five," Percy continues. "I don't know how I knew." He sounds small. "But I fucking knew it from the start, and my mom just told me it'll turn out okay in the end, but I knew it wouldn't. I _knew _it was going to go downhill. I should've called the police. Should've fucking done something." His raw voice cracks, and Annabeth winces.

"You were just a kid, Percy," she consoles, though she doesn't even know what for yet.

"It doesn't matter. I was old enough to know. I just needed to trust my gut instinct." He pauses. "It was okay at first. Gabe got decent money as a salesman at a second-hand car dealership."

Annabeth's sure 'Gabe' is a lovely name for other people, but she has never wanted to crush a man's face in by the name of 'Gabe' as much as she wants to right now.

"But then he stopped going, demanded my mom do a bunch of shit for him all the time. Clean the counters, vacuum, make his fatass a goddamn 7-layer bean dip all the time, the fucking greedy, prick." Percy tenses all of a sudden, shooting a worried look at her. "Oh my god, that was so fucking insensitive. I'm so sorry. Shit, Annabeth."

Annabeth looks at him strangely. What had he even—'_his fatass a goddamn 7-layer bean dip.' _Oh. _Oh._

Percy curses. "Please punch me. Please. It'll make me feel so much better," he begs, pleading with her.

Annabeth holds up her hands in surrender. "No, no! Percy, you're fine," she tries to explain. "You've obviously had a very traumatic past based on the way this story's going, and I didn't even notice, I swear!"

"Are you sure?" He bites his lip. It's bleeding now.

Annabeth reaches up without thinking, wiping it off. He licks the cut out of habit. "You're okay, Perce," she promises. "Keep going."

"Okay, but next time…" Percy trails off. "I have to learn. Make a fuss."

She shakes her head. "You'd never say something like that," she tells him. "And you already know."

Percy's guilty, but he acquiesces, continuing. "Point is, he was very controlling and demanding, and I should've seen it coming, but our apartment quickly filled up with his trash. His friends came over all the time to gamble. He wouldn't work, wouldn't lift a finger to help my overwhelmed, exhausted mom, and then he'd blow all her hard-earned money on poker."

Dread coils in the pit of her stomach. Why does she know exactly what comes next? She hates this world, she really does.

"It wasn't long until he hit my mom, and I came next, obviously."

Annabeth internally seethes. It's so much worse knowing it deep down and him actually _saying _it out loud. "I'll fucking _murder _him."

"Too late," Percy mumbles. "Died of a stroke when I was about 14."

Annabeth quickly does the math. That's… that's _ten _years. _Ten_ years of abuse. _Ten_ years of suffering. _Ten _years of constant fearing for your life. Her heart clenches. They're only 17 now. It ended only 3 years ago. That's too much for her.

"I hope it was the bean dip," she spits.

"Annabeth!" Percy protests.

She glares at the ground. "This can't hurt my illness, Percy, I promise you."

"I know, but I just… I don't want to hurt you," Percy concedes.

Annabeth's heart swells at his sweetness. What cruel human being could ever lay a finger on him? Or his mom? Sally Jackson is the most optimistic, good person she's ever met. She's made _Annabeth _soup before when she was sick, forget just taking care of her son. And Annabeth ate it all, despite any feelings. She could not let Sally down, never her.

"You won't."

"I'm really fucking scared, Annabeth."

It's perhaps the most vulnerable thing he's ever said to her. "Of him?"

What he says next is ten times worse.

Percy squeezes his eyes shut. He pulls his hand free of her grasp. "Of _being _him."

Annabeth feels like he's knocked all the air out of her. "You can't be serious." He's the most angelic person she's ever met. He's going to go to heaven or Elysium or whatever the fuck he believes in, if he even does at all. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Seriously. She's seen him take a spider—those spawns of Satan—and talk it into climbing onto a magazine before letting the little guy make his way out of the window in his bedroom. She had been screaming the entire time, seeking refuge on his bed of course, but that didn't mean she hadn't been touched by his tenderness, obviously.

"Sometimes I just get really angry, Annabeth. I don't know how else to explain it. Sometimes I just think of him, and I want to break his gravestone across the pavement. What he did do my mom. What he did to my mom that I probably don't even _know _about still." Percy quivers with rage. She puts a comforting hand on his forearm, and he relaxes into her touch, taking a deep breath. "And sometimes I'll just think about my birth father, and it's like why? Why'd he have to be such a fucking deadbeat? He made my mom _so, _so happy. I've never seen photographs—I refuse to—but I fucking hate how I look too. My mom always says I look so much like him, and it's kind of scary because I feel so shitty she has to see me everyday, be reminded of a guy she actually loved, who just smashed all over her heart."

That's… Annabeth swallows hard. Even when he's mad, he's only thinking of how he can make lives better for people around him. He hates how he looks, not because he's vain, but because he's sympathetic. He's crazy. He'll never be Gabe. He's perfectly imperfect, and she wishes so desperately she could express it to him, but the words get caught in her throat.

"That's heavy," she finally says.

"Mhmm," he agrees. "And now there's Paul. Paul's a good guy. He makes my mom happy, and he even asked _me _if he could marry my mom, which is very thoughtful, but I can't help but be wary of him, even if I trust him, you know? There's just this part of me… this cynical part that's always screaming that he's going to crush her too. He can't hurt me," Percy says surely. "I'm too old for that shit now."

That makes her expression crumble. He shouldn't feel like he can't feel. Gabe's ruined him.

"But he can still hurt Mom. And that's the worst fucking threat I can think of." He looks back down at his wrist. "So now I just have these. A reminder of my foolishness and inability to warn my mom what was going to happen."

Of course he would take the blame. "It's not your fault."

"God, I hope so." His eyes are shiny.

Annabeth pulls him tight to her, unable to resist it anymore. He lets her crush him in a hug. For the first time in forever, he feels weaker than her, frailer. He's glass, and he'll shatter if she doesn't stop it. She can be his superglue. She'd love to be his superglue.

"These?" Annabeth echoes. There's more.

He nods a little, his chin hitting against her shoulder. Annabeth doesn't mind. She runs her fingers through his hair.

"Thank you for telling me. You didn't have to, and I think you're the best person ever for what it's worth," she whispers.

Percy squeezes her tighter. "Your faith in me is the best thing I could ever ask for."

She can hear his heart beating. It's comforting.

"Please don't ever give it up," Percy begs. "I don't know what I'd do."

"Never," Annabeth promises, and she smiles sadly at him. She could never, ever, _ever _give up on him. Her faith in him might be the thing he cherishes the most, but she just cherishes _him. _All of him. The luggage, and the burdens, and the trauma too.

Annabeth's brought back to a talk she had with Percy what seems like a long time ago. He had reminded her she was sick enough, had told her other pain does not diminish her own, but the guilt comes back now. Percy's pain is worse than hers, and so she feels small. Annabeth shrinks in his presence, light like a feather, and with one look Percy knows what she's thinking.

"We'll call it even," he tells her, a slight frown marring his graceful features.

But they're not even. They never will be. Because people cannot be weighed on scales, and their pain cannot be compared when pain is subjective and varied, and people are not objects to analyze in venn diagrams until one is declared the sole victor of suffering. There is enough pain to go around, and therefore there is enough validation. Annabeth thinks she's finally beginning to come to understand this, and it doesn't mean it's not hard to fight her natural compulsion to downplay her symptoms and hospitalizations, but she's trying.

"Even," Annabeth repeats, testing the word on her tongue. She says it so quietly she doesn't even know if he hears her. They'll be even because they're both odd.

Percy reaches up to brush her hair back, or so she thinks, but then his mouth is on hers, and Annabeth's suddenly so grateful she's brushed her teeth. He tastes like candy. She's seen him eat blue raspberry Jolly Ranchers enough that she knows why he's so sugary, and it makes her smile despite the stupid situation.

Percy's kissing her like he thought he might go to hell for doing it, but it would be worth it. Her knees go weak.

"We're both a little fucked up, aren't we?" Annabeth pants through kisses.

Percy makes a sound of agreement in the back of his throat before dragging her lips down on his again. She goes quietly for once in her life. He's not one she'd struggle against, she inwardly confirms, claiming him as her own. It's possessive, and odd, and nothing like she's ever felt before, but she wouldn't trade this moment on the bathroom floor for anything else in the world.

**~.~.~Two Months Later~.~.~**

"How's my favorite grandma?"

Annabeth turns to look at Percy, glaring harshly. "I'm literally one month older than you, Percy," she points. She's going to be eighteen in four days' time. Just the thought makes her cripple with internal existential crises. She can't possibly be this old, not yet. Time flies. And hopefully, so will she.

"She's doing great," a chipper brunette replies from her. Annabeth's stomach feels tight, but it loosens at Piper's familiar voice. Piper puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. In her hands is none other than her white, neatly trimmed mini poodle Gladiola. Tristan had tried to convince her to dye it pink, but Piper had adamantly refused, preferring the fresh look of an au naturel dog. Gladiola holds her chin up defiantly, like she knows she's the shit, like she knows Piper would do anything for her, pampering her constantly. A diva dog for a diva girl. Annabeth affectionately pats Gladiola on the top of her head.

"Gladiola's rooting for you too," Piper brightly says, her eyes lighting up. "Isn't that right, girl?" She coos, coddling her dog.

Annabeth sucks in a deep breath. Thalia's already in the crowd with her dad and brothers somewhere. They'll be coming in and out—this race will be long—alongside Piper, Percy, Jason, Grover, and even Calypso, who had been released maybe three weeks ago. It's heartwarming.

"I can't do this," Annabeth groans, wringing her hands nervously. Percy frowns, but Piper just rolls her eyes, easily bouncing Gladiola on her hip like a baby. She's such a dog mom—it's nuts.

"Tosh," Piper dismisses, pursing her lips.

Maybe it's just the fact that Piper's not changed a stitch through the years, still very much attached to her ridiculous British slang, but Annabeth feels a rush of affection for her friends who have gotten her through so much through the years.

"You're right," Annabeth decides, nodding. It's faux confidence—even she knows that—but fake it till you make it, right?

Percy's decided not to run with her. She needs to do this on her own, but he won't be far. He'll be there too, cheering her on from the sidelines.

Annabeth may not be the strongest person she's ever met (that honor probably goes to Percy), but she knows she's sure as hell good at math. In the world, the average for running a marathon is four hours, forty-seven minutes, and forty seconds. That's about ten minutes and fifty-eight seconds per mile. That's all she has to beat to feel good. That's all she has to beat and that motherfucking puppy is hers.

Annabeth steels herself, saying her goodbyes. Her smart watch is hooked up to her vitals—numbers have always soothed her—and she makes her way to the starting line.

Five boroughs. She can do this. Percy's voice echoes in her mind: it's a mental challenge, not one of physical ability.

Well, then she's rock solid. She's never been mentally stronger than she is now, and when she takes off as the fake gun fires into the air, there's a new fire in her gut that's never been there before. It's made a home in the depths of her insecurities, and it's blazing out all the despair, consuming it in a way only a wildfire can.

_Maximum effort._

…

Annabeth doesn't start to feel tired until she reaches the twenty-mile mark. She's doing good, _real _good; Percy's trained her like a finely-tuned machine, and suddenly she's grateful for his torturous exercises and swelling-inducing weight lifting.

It's his face in her head that gets her through the suffering cramps at the 22-mile mark, when she's so fucking close. It's his words that make her push through the seemingly eternal agony at the 24-mile mark. It's his smile, and his tears, and his stories, and his touch that makes her keep going.

She's doing this for herself, there's no doubt about it, but he's her rock even if he's not standing right next to her. It hardly matters. He's there with her anywhere she goes. He always will be.

When Annabeth crosses the finish line, not quite leading the pack of the runners, but certainly towards the mid-half of the front, she can hardly believe. She walks instead of sitting down, Percy practically screaming in her head.

And then he's screaming next to her. Piper's hollering the most, bouncing up and down. Gladiola judges them all as they celebrate. Jason, who doesn't even really know her, crushes Annabeth in a hug, and she's grateful, and then Thalia's beating her younger brother off so she can hug Annabeth—a rare display of affection for the Grace sister, and then her dad's there too, squeezing her so tight, and her brothers are complaining that she's sweaty as they cling to her, and Alice has brought her ice-cool water, for which she is _so _thankful, and she looks for Percy, but she doesn't have to look far.

He's standing off to the side, allowing everyone to congratulate her, to suffocate her with their love. For once, he's an outsider, but he's not lonely. He's smiling like he can't fucking stop himself, and his eyes are shiny with pride, and Annabeth really wants to collapse, so she does. She collapses against him, and Percy's pressing kisses into her perspirating, sweaty face, and he doesn't give a fuck that her dad's watching—a realization that would make her feel more mortified if she wasn't so fucking exhausted—and then Piper's squealing harder because she's a pain in the ass, who _just _has to make everything so fucking awkward, and the tips of Percy's ears go red as he pulls away, albeit reluctantly, with understanding. Frederick's raising one eyebrow, but Annabeth chooses not to address it. Not yet, anyways.

"How long?" Annabeth manages to pant out. She's already looking at her watch when Percy announces, in a soft voice of gentle astonishment and unashamed pride, _4:09:34._

Four hours, nine minutes, and thirty-four seconds. Thirty-eight minutes and ten seconds less than the average.

Annabeth feels like she's on top of the world, and nothing can fucking touch her. Not food, not grades, not her mom who had chosen many years ago to not be a part of this victory when she walked out of her life without so much as a note, not all the ways Annabeth has gone wrong through the years, and all the ways she's gone right, and all the ways she's built walls, only for them to crumble soon after, and all the ways she's hurt people as much as they've hurt it.

It's just her and the finish line, and her body's throbbing dully. The soreness will come later, but for now she revels in this moment, breathing in the fresh air of the city she's grown up in for so long.

She'll be eighteen soon, and she's accomplished more than she could ever hope to. This isn't the end, not hardly. There will be struggles, she knows that too. She hasn't beat it all yet, but she's getting there. She doesn't cry like other runners, not of joy. She's content to watch this city come together and celebrate the accomplishments of incredible men and women alike, watching families embrace and lovers shamelessly make the fuck out and love spreads through this city faster than any fire.

She's never loved people more than she does now. The sheer humanity in them is what makes them terrifying and weak, but it is also what makes them strong. Human beings do terrible things, she acknowledges. They tear down cities and rebuild over and over and over again, to the point where it's humiliating to look back upon and criticize your human race when you analyze history, but when they come together, they are more beautiful than any other worldly experience. They are beautiful not in their looks, but in their suffering, their defeat, their struggles, and their method of finding their way out of the depths of despair. They have an appreciation, a sensitivity, an understanding, a compassion unrivaled by any other species. They will find a way to persevere through every hurdle thrown at them, and they will meet at the top because the bottom is too crowded. And they can be ignorant— Annabeth will not deny it—but Annabeth never more wanted to believe that humans are inherently good than she does now. For every evil, there is good, and it balances, as it all should.

She's reminded of Anne Frank, perhaps a strange line of thought to remember as these people she's known all her life cheer around her, oblivious to her inner contemplations. She wouldn't describe it as inner turmoil anymore. Turmoil comes and goes; contemplation never leaves.

No, Annabeth remembers Ms. Frank, something she's said so long, something so profound, coming to mind. They're ushering her to the car now, going out to celebrate with ice cream. She's dazed, her heart pounding in her chest.

"_Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart."_

Annabeth closes her eyes in the car ride, savoring every word in her mind.

We are complicated and vain and terrible, Annabeth internally confirms, but hell if we aren't worth it. She's thinking of Gabe, who hurt Percy and his mother. She's thinking of Athena, who left Frederick scrambling for pieces of his memory, searching for where he went wrong. She's thinking she'll build something permanent. Something to outlive her, something to remind her of how much she loves this world at its best and its worst too.

When Percy takes her hand, she lets him. She never wants to let go.

…

"Explain," Percy demands, but he's not looking at her, instead cooing over the German Shepherd in a little bone-shaped bed on the kitchen floor.

Annabeth reaches out her hand, and her puppy comes bounding towards her obediently. Annabeth squishes her cute face, absolutely and completely in love.

"Sophie," Annabeth begins. "I've named her Sophie after Sophia Gregoria Hayden Bennnett," she explains. "She was an American architect and the first female graduate of the four-year program in architecture at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology," Annabeth proudly states. "She built the Woman's Building at the World's Columbian Exposition in 1892." She adores Ms. Hayden's work. She always has. Why not name the new love of her life after her?

"I'm starting to think you love Sophie more than me," Percy whines, but he curls up next to Annabeth, stroking Sophie behind her ears.

Annabeth offers a cheeky grin, not quite contradicting nor confirming his theory.

Percy leans in to kiss her, amused by her lack of response. "You suck," he informs her, pulling away, much to her disappointment. "But I can't even be mad because look at that little face." He goes back to fussing over her puppy. Annabeth has to agree; Sophie is the most precious thing in her world. She watches him hover over Sophie for some time, smiling involuntarily at the doggie-parent persona he's just naturally taken on.

Annabeth's first thought is that she really fucking loves him, but that's also the understatement of the year.

It's not a feeling she's unaccustomed to, she supposes—especially when she's loved him for far longer than she's ever admitted—but it doesn't stop her from feeling soft as he affectionately plays with the Chase household's latest family member.

Her second thought is that she definitely did something right if she's here.

Annabeth struggles to recall exactly how she'd been lucky enough to land herself with Percy and all these other people in her life—there's no way it's a mistake; everything she does is so deliberate—but for once, she allows herself to believe in fate. She was always meant to end up here, and she doesn't regret one bit.

Her third thought is satisfaction.

She'd never planned life would take things for the better. When she was at her lowest points, she figured her world was ending, going up in flames around her. She's never expected happiness. She's seen Athena burn up in flames from working so hard, and her father drown in a passion that he needs to pay the bills, but she's grateful for this stroke of hard-earned content. She knows she has a long way to go—she's only eighteen, and her whole life is still ahead of her—and she knows there will be an equal amount of disappointments as there are victories, but… she's ready to take on the world.

Annabeth can't go back and change the beginning, but she can start where she is and change the ending, and she finds that in the grand scheme of things, she really likes her chances. And it's enough.

**A/N: Okay, full disclosure: I didn't even look this over. Usually when I release chapters/stories, I'll reread one section that I was particularly unsure about, but I didn't even do that, and there's obvi no editing like usual. Tbh I'm too lazy to edit this longass piece of work. Idek what the word count is at this point.**

**Hopefully it wasn't complete trash? If you want, lemme know what you thought in the reviews or shoot me a PM; I love hearing from y'all.**

**For those of you who follow LLTK, expect an update soon. I'm not even halfway through the chapter in all honesty, but I have a feeling I'll just sit down and write it all in one day really soon.**

**Finally, if you stuck with me through this entire story, thank you so much! I'm really a fan of long oneshots. Average Canadian, Aria Taylor, and TheWritingManiac do this often, and there's something so charming about it. It's mesmerizing to scroll through words upon words, all beautifully crafted, and grow, and cry, and love, and laugh with a character in one go. Hopefully, it kept y'all mostly entertained throughout and lived up to expectations.**

**Kit xx**

**(PS: Valentine's Day is a social construct, but happy early social construct anyways. I like to think that this story is a reminder of the importance of self-love, and platonic love, and familial love, just as much as romantic love.)**


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